


watching it from the bench

by elegantstupidity



Series: put me in coach [5]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-23 02:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 108
Words: 63,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: Collection of ask meme responses, ficlets, and various headcanons originally posted to tumblr. Some may/will be expanded in the future. I'll add more as I stumble across them.





	1. headcanon: Cuddly Ginny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: headcanon, inspired [years have gone so fast](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19819018), [i'll hold you (in a cold place)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/19952656), and [we'll conquer them all](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/21112085)

listen. i know we’re all here for Mike “Cuddle Monster” Lawson, but I really need you to consider this: Ginny Baker, extreme snuggler.

think about it. every time we’ve seen our girl give someone a hug, she goes ALL IN. Blip in the pilot when he swings her around, Will when he tells her to go with Amelia, Cara when they’re saying goodbye, plus every other time anyone has given her a scrap of affection. (not to mention that promo!!)

what you shouldn’t think about: Ginny and Mike falling asleep like normal people and halfway through the night, he wakes up to her sprawled on top of him. he tries to get her back on the bed, thinks she’ll be more comfortable, but she just clings to him, burrowing closer. he accepts it because how do you argue with a hot woman sleeping on you? but it quickly moves out of the bedroom and into the waking hours. Ginny’s like a starfish, clinging to his side any time he’s stationary for more than a few minutes. Watching Ken Burns, she curls into his side. lounging by the pool, she hooks an ankle over his. eventually mike starts to feel weird if he’s laying down or sitting and Ginny isn’t there to touch him.

 


	2. ask meme: "You want me to do what?" Mike asked incredulously.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bawsanity: "You want me to do what?" Mike asked incredulously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: Leave 1 sentence and I'll write the next 5

“Hide me!” Ginny hissed, clutching the arm of his suit jacket and peering around his bulk anxiously.

Mike peered around the grand ballroom, trying to find what, exactly, would send Ginny Baker cowering. He never did get a straight answer, too distracted by her warmth pressed against his side and the sight of all that skin revealed by the dress he’d struggled not to inspect too closely. 

“Well,” he drawled, draining his drink and turning to the woman behind him,   
“if you want to hide, I know a place.”

Grin spreading across her face, Ginny put her hand in his and let him lead the way.

 

 


	3. ask meme: I left it by the sink. And now I can't find it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: I left it by the sink. And now I can't find it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: leave 1 sentence and I'll write the next 5

“How do you lose an entire spider? I had it trapped and everything!” Ginny shrieked from her perch on the kitchen island, eyes darting everywhere as if the creepy-crawly might still be around.

Mike would laugh at the picture she made, doing an uncanny impression of a cartoon elephant that had just spotted a mouse, except no cartoon elephant had ever looked a thing like Ginny Baker. He managed to coax her down, pressing a kiss to her forehead when she was back on solid ground.

“Don’t worry, Gin, I’ll protect you if it comes back,” he promised.

 


	4. ask meme: Ginny tells Mike she's pregnant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oliicitydelena: Ginny tells Mike she's pregnant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: leave 1 sentence and I'll write the next 5

… and holds her breath while she waits for a reaction. 

He stares her down for a hard moment, eyes squinting like he can’t quite tell if she’s serious or not. Like this is something to joke about.

Which—Ginny is more than willing to poke fun at Old Man Lawson from time to time, but not about things that  _matter_. Like the embryo currently renting out her uterus. 

When he surges out of his chair and gathers her up in his arms, lighting up the kitchen with his smile, though, Ginny sighs in relief and hugs her husband back. 

 


	5. ask meme: Imagine Bawson trying really hard to keep their new relationship a secret...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Imagine Bawson trying really hard to keep their new relationship a secret from everyone, but it's that damn sweatshirt that's their undoing. Ginny can't help it, she loves the way it smells of Mike. So if she steals it from him, and he happens to never mention it, they're both happy. But one rainy Sunday afternoon Evelyn drops by Ginny's place while her boys are having a 'daddy & son day'. Evelyn recognizes the old sweater Ginny's wearing and smirks, 'didn't realize you were into men's clothing'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: leave 1 sentence and I'll write the next 5, sort of, that's what I pretended this was at least

Ginny tries to play innocent, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ev.”

Evelyn, who has raised two boys with actual angel faces and a mischievous streak a mile wide, is not one to be played. She just nods, smiles, and stares Ginny down, waiting. 

Of course, Ginny caves, too excited to tell  _someone_  about how happy she and Mike are. 

“You’ll never believe it,” she says, definitely underestimating just how unsurprised her friend is.

 


	6. fic stub: Mike's wardrobe speculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sybelle: I can’t decide if I need to see Mike in more suits or more plaid in season 2??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stub, i've still got a lot of feelings about the clothes these losers wear

i feel like a correct answer (because lbr. there’s no wrong answer so long as we get a season 2) is a plaid suit.

like this one, even if it’s subtle: 

 

or even some power clashing like Oscar does from time to time. 

Mike would hate it. So so much. He’s very clearly a classic black suit kind of dude. Ties are apparently optional for him, but pocket squares are a must. idk who (Evelyn?) picks this one out for it and he tries to wheedle his way out of it. After all, he’s been wearing the same suit to the Padres Foundation’s annual fundraiser for years and no one’s complained. Why mess with success?

But (okay, it’s definitely Evelyn) she levels him with a look and Mike falls in line. 

God, is he glad he did with the way Ginny’s eyes go wide and a little awe struck when she sees him for the first time of the night. She even gets distracted from the conversation she’s having with Maxine, has to duck her head and apologize for losing her train of thought. 

Mike’s preening strut is only cut short when Ginny turns and he catches sight of the back of her dress, or the lack thereof. He practically trips over one of the silent auction tables at the smooth expanse of skin on display.

Evelyn, of course, is entirely too proud of herself, and wonders whether stylist or matchmaker is a better job title.

(in other news, look at how beautiful Kylie Bunbury is! okay, not  _news_ , but we can all take a moment, right? like, how does a person get a face like that? Deal with the devil?)

 

> **sybelle** : I feel like we need another fancy dress episode now, so can Fox hurry up and renew the show already. Mike would definitely owe Evelyn big time, she’d be so proud of herself while Blip’s trying to figure out what she did. I can also imagine Mike and Blip having an entire conversation on their tuxedos lol.

Absolutely!! I wanna see all the Padres in their finest. It would probably be a whole  _thing_  in the clubhouse. The guys comparing designers and roasting each others’ tie/shirt combos. And they’ve all learned that Ginny just does not care about any of it. As long as she can walk without tripping, she’s good to go. 

Which doesn’t mean that the dress she wears isn’t absolutely jaw dropping and Mike and Blip don’t have to glare at everyone who can’t seem to take his eyes off her. (For very different reasons, of course.) Meanwhile, Evelyn’s wishing she had some popcorn to really enjoy the show.

(I, personally, want to see what kind of dress Ginny would pick for herself, though. Amelia seems to pick most of her nicer clothes. But even if Amelia comes back, I have to imagine that there’d be some distance between them? Ginny’d probably want more independence/room to make her own choices, and much as I love her, the girl is a fashion disaster. but maybe she’d surprise us and wear something like this)

Padres gold, even.

 


	7. headcanon(s): Happy/Domestic bawson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Having a pretty meh/crappy day. Do you have any cute Bawson head canons to help distract me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: headcanons, a lot of headcanons, that I don't think I ever used...

oh no!! i’m sorry, but yes, of course. i’ve always got bawson headcanons to share!

Okay, I’m going with purely fluffy, domestic stuff just because. None of these are really related, but

  * Mike and Ginny both get way too competitive at Sanders family board game nights. Ginny doesn’t like to lose and Mike doesn’t know how to do it graciously. After the Sorry! board gets upended one too many times, they get relegated to playing Battleship in the corner.
    * It doesn’t  _not_  turn into a weird exercise in foreplay.
  * Ginny doesn’t just hum when she’s stretching. She’s got a different song for a bunch of different things: shaving, getting dressed, checking her email.
    * Mike has a mental catalogue of them all. 
  * Ginny is an active sleeper. Some nights she’ll stay curled up in Mike’s arms all night and some she ends up completely turned around. Mostly, though, she wakes up with her face pressed against the skin of his ribcage, an arm banded around his stomach and a knee hitched low over his thighs. 
  * Mike Lawson is too good in bed not to have moves on the dance floor. It’s just true. 
    * The first time he takes Ginny out dancing, not just to a place that has a dance floor, and he pulls her in close to salsa, a spike of bright, unadulterated want rushes through her. It takes a lot of effort to not march him straight off the dance floor and go home again.
      * She lasts two songs. 



ALSO:

  * I think there are a lot of almost first kisses in Mike and Ginny’s future. A lot of moments where they’re both leaning in, both ready to take the plunge or ruin everything or just give into temptation. (Like at least 4.) And every time, something keeps them from closing the distance. It can’t be a ringing phone every time, but it happens way more than either of them would like. Enough that they both start to hate the sound of an incoming call.
    * When it finally happens, they’re utterly alone, on the same page, ready to give into gravity. Mike looks at Ginny and she’s already looking back. They’re smiling, soft and sure, not at all nervous. 
    * After all, what is there to be nervous about? They both know that this is it. 
      * End of the line, finished, done. Ginny Baker and Mike Lawson were made for each other and it was ridiculous to ever pretend otherwise.
    * They lean in together, as in sync in this as they ever were on the field. Ginny’s curls get trapped between their foreheads, Mike’s nose bumps against hers. 
    * It’s so much like that night outside a bar in her first season. Ginny wants to laugh at how long it’s taken them to end up exactly where they started.
    * Wants to but is too busy breathing in the intoxicating scent of Mike’s cologne. 
    * Mike can practically taste her breath on his lips and
    * They shift in tandem, mouths lining up, drawing ever closer
    * and
    * The phone starts ringing. 
    * There’s a beat, tension flooding every line and angle of both of them.
    * Their eyes open at the same time.
    * The ringtone blares on. 
    * Ruefully, they smile, pulling apart. Mike (because of course it’s his) goes for the phone and 
    * He declines the call.
    * Ginny’s smile is the most beautiful damn thing he’s ever seen and he tugs her back to him, unable to imagine not kissing her for one more second. Her arms wrap around his neck and she’s the one who closes that final bit of distance.
    * Their first kiss, Ginny’s laughing against his lips, body pressed close against his.
      * Mike wouldn’t have it any other way



 


	8. fic stub: Music Industry!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **question:** when is someone going to write the bawson music industry au that’s begging to be put out into the universe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, JK I'm writing this, just very very slowly

**question:**  when is someone going to write the bawson music industry au that’s begging to be put out into the universe?

imagine with me: Mike Lawson’s been producing for SDP Records for basically his entire career. He’s seen a lot of one hit wonders and even more who don’t even make it that far. When he finds out the label’s signed Ginny Baker, he’s expecting her to be more of the same. And when she tanks her first live performance, before she even gets in the studio, he’s annoyed to find that he was right. 

But Ginny battles back, going toe to toe with him in the recording studio, pushing her voice and her vision over what the label wants. Grudgingly, Mike’s lets himself be impressed, which quickly evolves into full-on admiration. 

 


	9. fic stub: cock block!Janet Baker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Now just imagine Mike and Ginny are fooling around, he can't wait to have his way with her only for Janet to come traipsing through the house and interrupts them. It takes everything in Mike not to snap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, this one is getting it's own fic

_ooh, i’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve this, but I like it!_

* * *

And while it would be delightful to see this in some kind of high school AU situation, I almost like the idea of it happening to them in a canon time frame even more? Janet dropping by for an unexpected visit or something?

Like, there’s no way that Michael Lawson, captain of the San Diego Padres isn’t desperate to please any kind of parental figure. It’s part of his whole, “Moms love me,” thing. They love him because he needs to prove himself to any and all parents in the vicinity. (Lowkey that’s why he and Blip are such good friends: Blip was already a dad when they met.)

And I feel like there’s definitely room for this situation to devolve into some kind of sexual chicken. Because Ginny’s relationship with her mom is already rocky enough without adding on some interrupted up close and personal time with Mike. So, I could see it happening that Ginny tries to get Janet out of the house as quickly as possible, but Mike is in full on Impress-the-Mom mode. In spite of really wanting to finish what he and Ginny had started.

Anyway, gets annoyed and decides to play dirty, lingering touches and whispering dirty shit in Mike’s ear when her mom won’t notice. And of course Mike’s competitive side has to kick in, ass smacks and promises of retaliations that only wind Ginny up more. Everything becomes a competition to see who will snap and unceremoniously usher Mrs. Baker out the door first.

 


	10. ficlet: Stretching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> youaremyworldlois: anyone inspired to write a short drabble of Ginny getting a close up of this view from one Mike Lawson where she stares a *little* too long? any takers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stub, picture prompt, that is an excellent picture

I mean…

Mike did say he was gonna go stretch in ep 8, so what if Al let him? 

Just Mike and Ginny stretching out in the training room, still a little damp from being caught in the rain. no one bugging them because lbr, the team’s learned not to intrude on Mike and Ginny time.

And Mike’s trying to go over hitters who aren’t Mason Terry, stretching out his quads, but Ginny’s taking too long to respond. So he checks over his shoulder and she’s staring. Staring far too low for him to think it’s at anything  _other_  than his ass, which. It probably makes him far too smug. Especially when Ginny realizes he’s looking at her and she blinks, slow and startled, pinking up beautifully. And when she licks her lips? 

All bets are off.

 


	11. fic stub: Ginny Baker Barbie™

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: How about Mike's reaction when Ginny gets her own Barbie doll (like Misty Copeland)?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas

hmmm…

I’m torn between Mike somehow sticking his nose into the process from step one (Ginny casually mentions one day that she has a pitch meeting with Mattel and she hopes that the prototype will look more like her than the first bobblehead. Which leads to Mike pumping Eliot for information: when is this doll coming out? How many press conferences will there be? Where are the promotional pictures being taken? How hard would it be to get a bunch of the cardboard cutouts that will inevitably take over toy aisles and leave them in her dressing room? That last one he definitely keeps to himself.)

OR

The Ginny Baker Barbie is a runaway success (because of course it is) and the people at Mattel are interested in making a companion doll. A catcher. And Mike Lawson is  _not_  their first choice. No, that honor goes to Livan who does not take the win gracefully. Anyway, cue sulking Mike and Ginny trying to cheer him up. Potentially with a vaguely unsettling Mike Lawson doll prototype. But more likely with lots and lots of sex.

(also: I feel like I remember someone writing a fic where Ginny gets her own Barbie as a gift. It was Christmas-y, but I can’t remember who wrote it… Anyone remember?)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do wanna know who wrote that Christmas fic where Mike buys Ginny her Barbie. I cannot for the life of me remember who wrote it.


	12. fic stub: Total Divas/WWE AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: I am total trash for this show called 'Total Divas' about the WWE female wrestlers, and last night while I was watching a complete Bawson au came to mind...one in which Mike is still the captain of the San Diego Padres but Ginny is a pro wrestler and when the WWE is town for an exhibition the Sanders twin insist that uncle Mike take them to watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, bawson AU night

_Listen, i know all about the dangerous road that terrible reality show AUs lead down since I also happen to love terrible reality shows. I tried to get Jane Austen fans to read a Pride and Prejudice Jersey Shore AU. I am still convinced it’s an apt comparison, but they were… not._

* * *

But I could see Ginny turning pro wrestler if baseball doesn’t work out. Girl’s got a bit of aggression that could do with a good outlet. Like maybe early on in her career she takes up kickboxing or something because she heard it would be good for cross training. But then maybe one of her teammates, or maybe even a spectator, just won’t shut up. Constantly chirping in her ear about how the only way she’ll get to the show is by sleeping her way there. And Ginny might just lose it, sucker punching the guy square in the jaw. 

Whether she gets released from her contract or leaves the league on her own is up for debate, but I can see the footage of her knocking the dude out cold going viral. It’s not too big a leap for the WWE or even one of the wrestlers to reach out to her. Set her on a new path. 

But dear lord, the sight of Mike Lawson so uncomfortably turned on by a woman who could probably knock him on his ass (physically compared to emotionally as we’ve seen in canon) without breaking a sweat is one that I would pay dearly to see.

 

 


	13. fic stub: Hollywood!AU and Art School!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> legendsalwaysdiehard: lmao that last ask has me thinking about AUs and different jobs they would have! i'd like to think that mike would be an actor (with the way his broadcasting went idk) and maybe ginny is an up and coming director/cinematographer (red carpet events and late night shoots~~~). since im a college art hoe i could totally see an AU where mike is a notable artist that goes and does a lecture or is a guest at a senior critique for a masters program that ginny is in (those get /really/ intense)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, bawson AU night, seriously though, who's writing the Bawson Hollywood!AU we all deserve?

_oh gosh. I pretty deliberately have not let myself go down the AU rabbit hole when I write for Bawson 1) because there’s so much great material in canon/the canon universe to explore and it’s a universe that I actually understand (a rarity in my fandom experience) and 2) because I love AUs so much. Too much. If I let myself, I would daydream approximately a billion unplanned, never to be written AUs and never actually post anything._

_That said, I am dying (DYING!) for a Bawson Hollywood!AU. That desire can be traced back at least to[January](https://megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/post/155657446036/aromeofonesown-adorable-costars-%EF%BE%89-%E3%83%AE-%EF%BE%89%EF%BE%9F) for anyone keeping score at home. (Somewhat related: someone please write a [music industry AU](https://megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/post/158537699801/megaphonemonday-question-when-is-someone-going)!)_

* * *

Mike as an actor is a great fit (though you are right about that rough rehearsal for his broadcasting gig. Maybe acting would’ve taken baseball’s place in this ‘verse?). He’d always be the best part of anything he was involved in, but that tends to be splashy action movies and brainless comedies. He’s not a “serious” actor.  Part of that is because he never does much more than scrape the surface in his portrayals, which isn’t a problem when he’s making million dollar summer blockbusters full of CGI and bizarre, unnecessary romantic subplots. It is a problem when he wants to do more, be better. 

Enter Ginny Baker.

And I definitely like Ginny as someone behind the camera (although Ginny as ingenue maybe parallels canon more directly?) struggling to get Lawson to perform. She’s seen glimpses of it, has been a fan of his work for a long time, even if people call him a hack now. And this movie, her baby, it’s her one shot to prove that she’s more than a grown up child actor, coasting on a movie she made when she was six, a movie she can’t even really remember for herself. This is her shot and she’s going to get Lawson on her side or die trying. 

It definitely doesn’t take dying…

I will 100% take your word on the intensity of senior critiques, though, since I have next to no experience with them. I wasn’t an art major, but I did have a friend who decided not to convert hers to a minor so she wouldn’t have to go through the critique. 

I can see Big Name Mike Lawson coming in and, after a cursory glance at Ginny’s work/a particular piece, commenting that it seems gimmicky without realizing she hears him. Only for him to be blown away by the complexity and beauty of the entire collection and then struggling to get back in her good graces and not quite understanding why. Like, why won’t this stubborn, talented, beautiful woman let him pick her brain/talk about art stuff/maybe get married and live happily ever after?? (What do you mean that’s basically the plot of Pride and Prejudice????)

Like, i love the man, but I love even more that he canonically has been knocked on his ass over and over by the one and only Ginny Baker.

 


	14. fic stub: Military!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Well since you like AUs what if Mike Lawson was a Professor on military history at the D.C War College, and one of his associated invites Lieutenant Colonel Ginny Baker to speak to their female students, as the youngest Fighter pilot to make it to the rank of L.C.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, bawson AU night

_i honestly don’t know what most of this means, but that’s not going to stop me from getting behind it 100%_

_(i only know 2 people who went to a military academy and I think both of them were in the Air Force. I rode in the ambulance with one of them because she drank too much at a party and the EMTs wouldn’t let her drunk friends go with. She was fine. Bought me a cupcake after as a thank you.)_

* * *

Anyway, I don’t know how often an actual war hero would go on to become a respected professor of military history, but I wouldn’t put it past Mike Lawson. Maybe he flew a Blue Angel or something (that’s a thing, right?) and a young Ginny Baker went to her first air show to see him and decided that the sky was the limit. 

A quick wikipedia search tells me that during discussions like that, there’s a “no quotation nor attribution” policy, which just tells me that Professor Lawson and Lieutenant Baker maybe get into something of a shouting match over some point of military strategy that somehow evolves into a long email chain, which at first was just to continue the argument, but becomes much friendlier pretty quickly. 

 


	15. fic stub: Cop!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: you know what AU this fandom is missing? a simple cop/procedural/xfiles type of one. Detective Mike Lawson has been on the force for awhile and loses his partner (either in a promotion or death if you want to get dramatic) and he is teamed up with newly minted Detective Ginny Baker, she graduated early, became a detective because of her father who Mike may or may not know. Road trips, undercover ops, late night stake outs. They also kick ass on the Cops vs Firefighters Baseball Game every year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, bawson AU night

_ooh, that’s true. I don’t think there are any Ginny/Mike police partner fics out there, though i’m definitely prepared to be wrong. Which is a tragedy given my adolescent love of police procedurals. seriously, i was convinced i was gonna be a lawyer off the strength of law and order. (svu of course)_

* * *

Anyway, Mike’s been something of a loose cannon since his divorce and the promotion (“Abandonment,” he’d mutter stubbornly) of his former partner Blip Sanders, and his precinct captain thinks pairing him up with a rookie will convince him to get his head on straight. Mike’s pretty sure she’s just gonna get him killed. Wunderkind legacy fresh outta some small town across the country, there’s no way she can hack it in a big city like San Diego. 

Little does he realize that Ginny Baker puts a whole new meaning on “loose cannon.” She’s reckless, eager to prove herself as more than her father’s daughter. Once they find their status quo, though, Mike respects the hell out of her and Ginny can’t imagine a better partner. Especially since he only complains about her music selection during stakeouts and never actually makes her change it. 

Of course, that bond is put to the test when Ginny’s brother and/or Mike’s mom rolls into town, dragging some suspicious dealings along with them. Throw in Rachel as a reporter on the San Diego crime beat, Amelia as SDPD’s PR rep, and Noah Casey as the flirtatious lab tech, and you’ve got yourself a police procedural.

 


	16. fic stub: Tattoo Artist!Mike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Au Mike Lawson tattoo artist and Ginny Baker professional MLB player. One drunk night Evelyn dates Ginny to get a tattoo of Trevor's name but Mike refuses to do it because 'she's young and it's far too early in their relationship to be tattooing his name on her body' and it has nothing to do with the fact that Mike finds her attractive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, bawson AU night, inspiration for [never ends well](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12068217)

_hoo boy. see, now i’m just thinking about mike lawson’s big burly arms covered in tattoos and how Ginny, even though she’s come in to get Trevor’s name permanently stuck into her body, thinks she’d like to see where else he’s got ink…_

* * *

but yeah. Mike’s grateful that he can smell the alcohol on their breath and that he’s met Evelyn before (he definitely did some of Blip’s ink, which was why Ev brought Ginny to this ship). Otherwise, he’d probably have to cave and put Blip’s name on his wife’s ass, which he knows she wouldn’t want if she weren’t six margaritas deep into girl’s night. And that’s not even considering Evelyn’s pretty friend, who has to pull out her phone to double check on when she had her first date with this Trevor guy. 

He makes her a deal. If she comes back in six weeks and still wants to get this guy’s name on her body forever, he’ll do it, and for free. If not, he gets to pick her first tattoo.

Ginny, never one to back down from a challenge, accepts. 

Not shockingly, when Ginny comes back in the shop exactly six weeks later, she admits that she and Trevor broke up. She also tells him he can’t just expect to put whatever he wants on her body. Not without her approving the design first, anyway.

And she looks so cute like that, her arms crossed over her chest, chin jutted out in defiance, that of course Mike caves. 

Yeah, all right, he’d say. We’ll make this a consult appointment. Tell me what you want and if it’s not a terrible idea, I’ll consider it. 

Of course, Ginny doesn’t know, so they have to go through the binders of flash and Mike’s portfolio, but her eyes keep snagging on his sleeves, so Mike finally just lays his arm on the table between them and lets her pore over the colors and design. Not that a pretty girl reverently tracing her fingers up and down his arm is much of a chore.

By the time the appointment window is over, they haven’t made any progress, so Ginny says they’ll have to figure it out next time. She says that at the end of the following four next times, after which they stop coming up with excuses and just start hanging out. 

Suffice it to say that in the end, when Mike finally tattoos a guy’s name on Ginny Baker, it sure as hell isn’t Trevor. 

 


	17. fic stub: Bones!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Au - Mike Lawson, Assistant Director of the FBI needs the help of world famous anthropologist Dr. Ginny Baker go catch a serial killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, bawson AU night, I should write this one, but I won't

_listen. Listen. I love Bones. I love Bones. I love every single second of that show (even though it went on about three seasons too long). I am actually, literally watching Bones right now. So yeah, I am 100% behind whatever fusion of these two universes that anyone cooks up._

* * *

Mike Lawson is not at all convinced that some poindexter from some hoity-toity lab is going to help boost his ability to close cases, but the higher ups won’t sign off on his theory without an “expert opinion.” So he’s got to kill half a day cozying up to some scientist, flash a few x-rays, get her approval, and finally catch the bad guy. 

Of course, that was before he met Dr. Ginny Baker. Dr. Ginny Baker who is even smarter than she is beautiful. Dr. Ginny Baker who will only offer an opinion if he lets her out into the field with him. 

Somehow, it’s the start of a beautiful friendship. 

Bonus: Evelyn and Blip as squints on Ginny’s team and Al as Mike’s supervisor. Amelia shows up as the Assistant US Attorney and the rest of the Padres make appearances as necessary. 

(While I’m all for a slow burn, let’s maybe kick up the pace just a smidge, though. Six seasons is too long to wait.)

 


	18. fic stub: Single dad!Mike and Doctor!Ginny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Ok just an AU idea for you to ponder. Mike is a single dad whose daughter is diagnosed with a heart problem that requires surgery. In walks Dr Baker, the first person whose managed to get a smile out of mini-Lawson since she was diagnosed, and Mike really, really can't afford to be attracted to his daughter's Peads surgeon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, bawson AU night

_oh, that’s so :(  poor baby Lawson._

* * *

Also consider though: After the successful surgery, Mike can’t bring himself to ask Dr. Baker out, partially because he’s a disaster, but mostly because he doesn’t want to make his daughter confront the memories of such a scary time by bringing her doctor back into her life. It’s not until his little girl tells him that she misses Dr. Ginny and her funny jokes that Mike realizes his girl is even stronger than he thought. 

Thankfully, Ginny forgives him for waiting so long to ask her out and even sends him home with a few new jokes to tide her favorite patient over. But only after giving her dad a goodnight kiss to tide him over. 

 


	19. fic stub: Center Stage!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Now what about a ballet AU?? Ginny Baker is a disciplined ballet dancer whose mother is the stage mom from hell, she's been training Ginny for the National Ballet Company since she was a little girl; and making it in to the NY Ballet Academy is one step closer to that dream. But then comes along Mike Lawson, Padres captain and catcher, he's the distraction that her mother can't stand and yet he has Ginny doubting whose dream she's living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, bawson AU night, these fusion ideas kill me in the best way

_If this is a Center Stage AU with a little bit of baseball thrown in, I’m all in. A little Maureen mixed with a little Eva and a lot of Ginny added to the mix? Yes, please!_

_(relocating to San Diego for less of a whirlwind romance feel)_

* * *

Her whole life, Ginny has been told that she is meant for the stage. Meant to be a prima ballerina in the most celebrated company in the country. She’s spent her whole life training and she’s finally made it in! The California Ballet Company’s summer intensive program. It’s her stepping stone to a position with the company and accolades. Just as her mother’s always wanted. 

Mike Lawson has no interest in ballet, and even less interest in his ticket to the CBC’s fundraising gala, but Rachel’d wanted to bring the guy, and Mike could pretend to be interested for a night if it was in the service of being petty. Plus, getting to check out all the ballerinas wandering the event, offering up platters of champagne flutes and caviar eases the sting. 

What he doesn’t expect, is for one of those ballerinas to tell him he’s opening up too much when he swings, and that explains his sudden slump at the plate. The fact that she’s got legs for days and a wide, dimpled smile is only part of his interest.

Suddenly, he can’t get enough ballet in his life…

 


	20. fic stub: Teacher!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: How about an AU in which Mike is a High School English teacher and Ginny is resident science teacher. The two have an unhealthy rivalry from the start but students are starting to take bets to see how long it is until the two of them get married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, bawson AU night, how isn't there a Bawson as teachers AU yet??

_ahh, yes. The only people more dramatic in a high school than the students are the teachers._

* * *

Ginny Baker is excited to start her new job as a biology and anatomy teacher, though she is a little disappointed to find out the school already has a longstanding baseball coach. They say she can take over the softball team if she likes, though. She will because she doesn’t like the idea of these girls being thrown at the mercy of someone who won’t take them seriously, but. She just wishes it could be baseball. 

That wish only solidifies when she meets the baseball coach, English teacher Mike Lawson. Lawson is exactly the kind of guy Ginny’d love to kick in the shins ordinarily: cocky, condescending, and cute, okay? The man is too attractive for his own good and it makes Ginny a little prickly. All in all, it does not make for a great first impression on either side. 

It definitely devolves into a bet over which team can come out with the better record, losing coach appearing at the end of year assembly in the outfit of the winner’s choice. 

And while they start out the season playing pranks on each other and encouraging their players to join in, they do eventually find some common ground. Mike sees what Ginny does with the softball program and goes to her for new drills and Ginny sees how much Mike cares about his players. They start talking strategy and trading conditioning exercises. Soon they’re talking without squabbling about other things, too, which is what sets off the flurry of gossip around the school. Both Ms. Baker and Mr. Lawson definitely hear about it, and even laugh with each other over it, but don’t do anything about it. 

Not until Ginny wins the bet, anyway, and Mike practically tackles her on the field, he’s so proud. 

(She still makes him wear the funny outfit at the assembly, though.)

 


	21. ficlet: how they fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> building off [this post](http://gosselaars.tumblr.com/post/160214591473/ok-but-what-about-the-struggles-of-their)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, wow cancellation really made me emo, jk i'm not surprised at all, i'm still emo about it

Ginny’s the one to sleep on the couch. Because even in the middle of this stupid, over the top, knock down, drag out fight, she’s not cruel enough to make him go kill his back and knees on a $5,000 monstrosity that’s only form, no function. 

It’d be a lie to say Mike doesn’t pad out to the living room in the depths of the night to check on her, but the sight of her sleeping face doesn’t soften him the way it usually does. Anger and frustration and yeah, probably more than a little guilt still roil in his stomach, so he goes back to bed. 

She’s gone when he wakes up in the morning. 

All day, he misses her. Literally. By mere seconds. He’ll walk into a room in the clubhouse only to see her ponytail whip around the corner. She even sits out in the bullpen during the game, though she’s supposed to start tomorrow and there’s no way Al puts her in as a reliever.

In the first time in—God, how long has it been? Weeks at least—Mike drives home by himself. He eats by himself. He gets ready for bed by himself and tries not to wonder if this is what his life is like now. 

Just when he’s about to give up on actually getting any sleep, the bedroom door cracks open. A sliver of light spills across the wall and Mike watches Ginny creep inside. If she knows he’s awake, she doesn’t give any indication, undressing silently and disappearing into the bathroom for a few moments. When she emerges, she pads right over to the bed and slides between the sheets. 

It’s not until she fits herself in next to him, her long arms wrapping around him, though, that Mike looses the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” she murmurs, right against his heart. 

They can’t just not talk about it. Not if they want this thing between them to survive—and Mike really thinks that he might die if it doesn’t. 

But it doesn’t have to be now. 

Now, he can just breathe a sigh of relief that she’s come back. Everything else can go to hell, just as long as she’s in this with him.

 


	22. fic stub: Neurosurgeon!Mike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Ok here's an au idea for you: Mike is a neurosurgeon who threw his whole life into his career after his wife cheated on him with his best friend. Until one day the Chief of Staff decides to invite the San Diego Padres to the children's ward to fundraise money.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, bawson AU night, is this a Grey's Anatomy reference that I missed?

_Oh gosh. I kept Mike mostly out of pediatrics because there’s no way they’d let him keep the beard. It’d freak out too many kids._  

* * *

Mike wouldn’t say why he made his way down to the pediatrics floor on his lunch break. The reason he would give, if asked, was he wanted to meet a few of the Padres visiting ahead of the fancy gala being held in honor of the team’s partnership with the hospital’s pediatric medical research outfit. It was common enough knowledge that he was a baseball fan, no one would question him further—although, he had to wonder if anyone even liked the Padres out of more than regional allegiance or nostalgia for Tony Gwynn. They definitely weren’t his team.

(The real reason, of course, was he was hoping Rachel was here covering the visit. The threat of also potentially running into David, his ex-best friend was worth getting to show her just how well he was doing post break up. And—okay,  _fine—_ beg her to take him back if she seemed so inclined.)

He didn’t have any luck on that front, or his fake one, though, so he figured he could check in on the kid he’d been asked to consult on. Brain tumors. Not that anyone would realize from the girl’s sunny disposition and unending optimism. She’d even gotten Mike to crack a smile when he first met her. 

Apparently, her charm wasn’t just reserved for surly neurosurgeons, though. Apparently, if the dimpled grin was any indication, it worked just as well on rookie pitchers.

Anyway, before he knows it, Mike’s got a new team to root for and it’s only 90% because of that rookie.

Bonus: Mike being referred to as Dr. Mike, Ginny being a secret volunteer and admitting she’d always wanted to be a candy striper in high school, Mike and Ginny ogling each other at a black tie gala, and absolutely no dying of any kind because I can’t handle that

 


	23. fic stub: Cardiologist!Ginny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Au idea: After Dr Ginny Baker performs heart surgery on one Mr Al Luongo he can't help but try and play match maker between his doctor and his catcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, bawson AU night, now a full length fic: [doctor, doctor (give me the news)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12075153)

_i feel like i should tell you all that while I love medical aus and approximately 70% of my friends in junior high were convinced they were going to become doctors (Thanks Grey’s Anatomy! and spoiler: none of them are), I know literally nothing about medicine or hospitals or doctors. Not that I’m gonna let that stop me, of course. Why let a little thing like reality stand in my way?_

* * *

Anyway, Al knows the minute he formally meets Ginny Baker, still a little groggy from the anesthetic they’d put him under after he’d collapsed at the Park—a heart attack, she tells him—that this is the kind of woman you don’t mess around with. Clearly, she’s got a brain that’s as impressive as her pretty face. 

It doesn’t occur to him that anyone would be dumb enough to try. 

Not until Mike comes to visit him, at least. And even though the boy is like the son he never had, even more than any of his daughters’ husbands, Al can’t help but cringe when Dr. Baker comes in to check on him—fresh out of a surgery no doubt since she hasn’t put her white coat back on—and Mike testily asks when they can expect to see a doctor around here. 

Ginny pauses and gives him a once over. When she asks when she can expect to see a World Series champion, Al knows that it’s meant to be. 

If only these two idiots could see it, too.

 


	24. fic stub: Alias!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Ok but what about an Alias au for Bawson: Ginny's fiancé is killed by the secret organization she thought was the CIA. So she becomes a double agent, and her handler happens to be surely Mike Lawson, the CIA have a winning combo - two angry agents who want justice from the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, bawson AU night

_I will 100% admit that I’ve only seen like 1 episode of Alias and it was a long time ago. BUT, I love spies and secret agents (I had a ton of fun writing my bellarke spy!AU) so obviously I love this. That said I have no idea what the actual plot of the show is._

* * *

As a spy, it’s literally Ginny’s job to keep and collect secrets. Some are more important than others. For example, the fact that her housekeeper has a gambling problem is less dangerous to national security than the fact that the Deputy Director of the NSA does, too. 

But when her new handler, Mike Lawson, tells her that he knows all about her secret—the one that is eyes only, need to know, although no one besides her  _needs_  to know, and definitely shouldn’t be on the Company’s radar—and wants in, she’s thrown for a loop, positive that she can’t trust him. But after a mission goes sideways and he gets her out, she begins to wonder if she can. Over and over, he proves himself to her, and eventually tells her that he has his own reasons for wanting to root out corruption in the Agency. Even if he doesn’t tell her the exact reasons, he doesn’t expect her to spill her whole sob story, either. 

Against all odds, it’s the start of something strange and even beautiful. 

(And, because they  _are_  spies, maybe more than a little deadly.)

 


	25. ficlet: Pregnant!Ginny in the World Series

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Future Bawson au: it's the final pitch for the World Series and Ginny has so much on her mind, yet somehow winning that ring doesn't seem to be as net wracking as figuring out a way to tell her catcher he's going to be papa; and it still amazes her that Evelyn's managed to keep her secret even from Blip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet
> 
> Oh geez. I just got done writing a fic with the World Series in it ([wake up to reality](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/23792541)) but I’m still having a lot of feelings about Mike Lawson and Ginny Baker, World Series Champions and soulmates, so that’s why this turned into more of a fic than an AU synopsis/blurb like i’ve been doing.

Ginny couldn’t say whether she wanted to puke from nerves or morning sickness, which Evelyn had told her wasn’t kind enough to restrict itself to the mornings. Still, it was one thing to be told and another to  _experience_. 

As she made her way out to the mound from the bullpen, Blip offering her a salute as she jogged by, Ginny couldn’t help but think that being asked to make only her fourth career appearance as a reliever for the save in the most important game of her life probably trumped the embryo currently incubating inside her. Then again, she’d never bothered to pay much attention in Human Bio. 

She managed to climb the hill without hurling chunks, which was great, but the sight of her catcher crouching behind the plate for her warm ups made her reassess just how settled her stomach was. Mike’s eyes on her were focused, intense, and completely unsuspecting of the microscopic bundle of cells that he was half responsible for. God, how was she going to tell him?

All through her eight warm up pitches, intrusive, unhelpful thoughts swirl through Ginny’s head. What if Mike wasn’t happy when she finally told him about the three pregnancy tests sitting in a ziploc bag in her suitcase? What if she let the runner behind her back, standing on second and chatting easily with Melky, score and tie up the game? What is she gave up a homer and lost the Padres their first bid at a World Series title? What if she vomited here and now? What if she actually did it and the guys tried to tackle her in celebration? What if she hit the ground too hard?

What if, what if, what if?

Suddenly, the eighth pitch was out of her hand and in Mike’s glove. Rather than toss it back, he trotted out to her to hand it over and go over a strategy. 

“One out, that’s all you need,” he said, like she wasn’t perfectly aware of where the game stood. Padres up by one run, two outs, the tying run on second.

Still, Ginny nodded back, holding out her glove for him to hand over the ball. 

He didn’t though, just eyeing her as intensely as ever, but a little suspiciously, too. “You good, Baker?”

She remembered how he’d said nearly the same thing after the first time they’d fallen into bed. She remembered how she’d felt loose and boneless, Mike’s big hand sprawled in the small of her back. She remembered how his lips brushed against the curve of her shoulder as he murmured, “You good, Gin?” soft and tender and just about everything she’d ever wanted from him but hadn’t expected.

A few hard blinks knocked her out of the memory. She wasn’t out of it enough to press her hand to her stomach or even hint at her news here. Not with a million cameras trained on them and pundits speculating on what they were talking about. 

Instead, she nodded back, sharp and assured this time, and echoed her own response. 

“We’re good.”

Mike’s chin tipped down to mark his acceptance. 

The sight filled her with confidence, so before he went, she said, “When I do this thing, make sure you’re the first one back out here, okay?” She didn’t explain further, but it wasn’t like Mike needed her to. It wasn’t often she made demands of him after all, and he hated letting her down.

“You’re delusional if you think I’d let anyone else get here before me,” he drawled, backing down the slope to get back to the plate.

From there, it was business as usual. 

And when, as usual, her screwball put the batter away and the stadium erupted in cheers, Ginny didn’t bother looking away from the man barreling towards her, his mask forgotten on the ground and arms spread wide for her. It was a relief finally letting herself be caught up in them, Mike hoisting her high in triumph.

As good as winning felt, and dear God did it feel amazing, the awestruck look on Mike’s face when he finally let her down long enough to tell him their news was almost better.

 


	26. fic stub: Stripper!Ginny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Bawson au: when the guys take Livan to a strip club to help him get over his broken heart Mike never meant to make small talk with the brunette giving him a lap dance. He never meant to learn that the job was a mean to an end to help pay for her father's medical bills or that Alzheimer's meant she could let him believe she was still on her way to the MLB. He never meant to come back to see the exotic dancer, and Mike really has no intentions of trying to save her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: fic stubs/ideas, bawson AU night, unpopular opinion: I'd rather read about stripper!Mike ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_All right. In honor of sinning sunday, enjoy this teaser for a fic I probably will never write._

* * *

Why so many of Sonny’s plans led to team outings at the strip club, Mike had no idea, but at least this one was a step up from the places they’d been before. Cleaner for sure even if the drinks cost more. Mike figured it was a fair trade. 

To be fair to Sonny, it seemed like his plan was working. The barest hint of Duarte’s usual smug smirk was beginning to show for the first time in weeks as two dancers did their utmost to cheer him up. Under ordinary circumstances, Mike would’ve been more than happy to let the kid wallow in his heartbreak, but he was playing like shit and that reflected poorly on Mike as team captain. 

He was trying to figure out how soon he could leave—every time he came to a strip club, he couldn’t help but think of his mom. Maybe Jackie Lawson had never had to resort to this, but hindsight was a bitch and Mike had a good idea of how close she’d probably come—when a husky, undeniably sexy voice said, “You’re looking a little lonely over here. Want some company?”

He definitely intended to turn her down. Smile and say something charming so she wouldn’t complain about him being a killjoy. But that was before he saw her. 

Miles of smooth, golden brown skin and the kind of body that made Mike think that maybe she really was a  _dancer_  without the “exotic” tacked on. At least some kind of athlete. 

But her face.  _Jesus_. 

Dark eyes shone even in the low, hazy light. And her dimpled smile probably was a little too eager to be seductive, but God did it still work for Mike.

Needless to say, all thoughts of his mom flew out the window.

 


	27. wish you'd write: bawson in an office setting au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mindykahling: I wish you would write a fic where... bawson are in an office setting au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, I wish you would write a fic where...

Mike knows there’s no future for him here. Writing about third rate teams and high school football for a tiny local paper? That’s not going to get him a desk at ESPN or in the press box for the World Series. He’d be better off starting a blog and working from home while he hopes it takes off. 

But if he works from home, then he wouldn’t be able to look up from his computer screen and catch sight of his best friend (and, okay, the woman he’s in love with). He wouldn’t be able to go to her desk any time he gets too bored and watch her grin light up her face. He wouldn’t be able to hear her ridiculous cackle when he inevitably suggests playing a prank on one of their unfortunate coworkers. 

So, even though Mike Lawson would love to see his byline in a paper people actually read before using it to line their bird cages, the fact that Ginny Baker is always just a few steps away keeps him right where he is.

 


	28. wish you'd write: Batting coach!Mike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> monkshoodr: (Pfft. No anonymous) I wish you would right a fic where... Mike coaches little league after he retires. (WAIT! Omg. After he retires he gets hired as a Padres hitting coach and he's determined to get Ginny to hit a big league home run.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, I wish you would write a fic where..., this one's getting its own fic

It’d been a long time since Ginny’d seen Mike look so affronted by her laughing right in his face. Then again, this was the first time she’d done it since he officially became  _her coach_. 

(Which. That was a whole other discussion.)

Well, if he wasn’t going to stop pulling her leg the way he had as her teammate, Ginny wasn’t about to stop laughing at him the way she had when he was hers.

Except. Maybe he wasn’t pulling her leg.

“Lawson,” she sighed, giggles drying up when he just frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, “I don’t think I’ve ever hit a home run in my life—not in Little League or Legion or high school; definitely not in the minors—and I probably never will. But what does it matter? I still got called up. I’m still a starting pitcher for a Major League Baseball team. Seriously, who cares?”

“I do.” Mike shook his head, unappeased. “You might be satisfied with that, but I’m not. I’m your hitting coach and if I say you’re gonna hit a homer, the only thing you need to ask is ‘How far?’ Got it?”

If Ginny’s salute was a shade south of respectful, she didn’t think anyone would blame her. Judging by the reluctant quirk to Mike’s mouth, she didn’t think he did, either.

 


	29. wish you'd write: Mike introducing Ginny to his mom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mindykahling: I wish you'd write a fic where... Mike introduces his mom to his gf, Ginny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, I wish you'd write a fic where...

Mike’s thumbs hadn’t stopped drumming against the steering wheel for the past twenty minutes. Ever since they’d turned off I-15, the soft thumping had filled the car. There wasn’t even the artificial lightness of Top 40 radio to back it up. 

From her seat on the passenger’s side, Ginny watched the tension and nerves flood her boyfriend and tried to remember the last time she’d seen him so anxious. It was a difficult prospect. Mike Lawson just didn’t get nervous. Not outwardly, at least. This was the man who’d practically strolled up to the plate in Game 7 of the World Series—bottom of the 9th, Padres down by one run, one man on base, and two outs—and proceeded to knock the first ball that came his way straight out of the park.

But this, introducing Ginny to his mother, had apparently undone him. 

She didn’t know what to say. Complex family dynamics were right in her wheelhouse, but what was that saying? All unhappy families are different? Something like that.

However, when they’d been sitting in the car for a solid ten minutes, parked outside a nice, if nondescript, house the entire time, Ginny reached over and finally took his hand. 

“Mike,” she said, smiling when he pulled his gaze off the steering wheel to look at her, “I don’t care if we only stay five minutes, but I really wanna meet the woman who brought you into the world. If only so I can say thanks.”

He rolled his eyes, but his fingers tightened around hers once before he took a deep breath and climbed out of the car.

 


	30. wish you'd write: Mike and Ginny volunteering for Big Brothers/Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: I wish you would write a fic where Mike and Ginny get involved with Big Brothers and Big Sisters and it leads them to realize they want more than friendship with each other. That they have always thought of each other as family and face there romantic feelings for eachother .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, I wish you would write a fic where..., children are diabolical

“All right, team!” Ginny called out to the gaggle of hyperactive kids swirling around the dugout. “Who’s ready to play some baseball?”

On cue, a ragged cheer went up from her band of misfits went up, and she couldn’t help but join in. They were pretty cute. 

Even if not everyone agreed. 

“Might wanna save the celebrating for when you actually score a run, Baker,” came Mike Lawson’s smug voice as he passed by on the way to his own team’s dugout on the other side of the field. 

“Why wait? We all know you’re going down, Lawson. Right team?”

There was something to be said for unquestioning allegiance and support Ginny realized as her team immediately, and loudly, agreed. Kids were great. 

(When she overheard them singing, “Mike and Ginny, sittin’ in a tree,” though, she definitely had to reassess that opinion.)

 


	31. wish you'd write: Rachel observing Ginny and Mike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: i wish you would write a fic where rachel sees the way ginny makes mike laugh/smile and realizes that he was never that way with anyone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, I wish you would write a fic where...

Rachel’d only stepped away from the party for a few minutes. Good as those stuffed mushrooms had been, they’d coated her fingers in a fine dusting of parmesan, and she didn’t want to potentially ruin the delicate silk chiffon of her dress. 

Hands clean, she began to mingle. She didn’t worry about leaving her date to his own devices.. After all, the party was being thrown by his team and full to the brim of Padres. Mike would be fine for a few minutes. 

It wasn’t that Rachel was sniffing out a scoop, but, well. If she happened stumble across one while she took a lap, that certainly wasn’t the end of the world. 

Except. When Rachel thought about what kind of story she might uncover, she’d thought more along the lines of an exclusive about how Ginny Baker was faring after her season-ending injury. Not how the young pitcher was apparently capable of lighting up her captain from the inside out. 

Watching her not-quite-ex-husband grin, soft and fond and so far beyond the realm of what was appropriate for two teammates, Rachel couldn’t help but wonder how in seven years of marriage, Mike had never once smiled at her like that.

 


	32. wish you'd write: Navy SEALs!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: i wish you would write a nay seal au fic of ginny being the first woman seal and mike her c.o. realizes he has an inconvenient feelings for her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, I wish you would write a fic where..., i am the least qualified person to write military AUs but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

To be perfectly honest, Ginny Baker never thought she’d make it here. And not just because when she first enlisted, the Navy SEALs didn’t accept women. Between nearly a year of prep courses before she was even allowed to enter SEAL Qualification Training, the extra six months at Fort Bragg so she could certify as a medic—part of Ginny would always be sure she’d been diverted down that road to give her more chances to drop out—and the month upon month of specialized instruction, it’d been a long, long road. 

One that she had nonetheless walked with single-minded determination. It didn’t matter that most of her instructors didn’t know what to do with her. It didn’t matter that her fellow trainees too often made her life a living hell. It didn’t matter that her family questioned her goals at every turn.

It didn’t matter because today, Ginny Baker was officially deployable as a United States Navy SEAL.

But if one more overgrown frat boy in fatigues offered to “let her play doctor,” she might have to throw it all out the window so she could knock some heads together. 

Right on cue, an unfamiliar voice called out, “Why if it isn’t Ginny Baker in the flesh! How about a word in my office, medic?”

Ginny whirled and without thinking, without even taking in more than the bare impression of a burly, bearded man, she unleashed a scathing torrent. Under nearly any other circumstances she would’ve been unequivocally proud of it. 

As it was…

“That’s Chief Petty Officer Lawson, medic.” Too late, she took in the bars on his sleeve and wanted to sink into the ground. He grinned, though there wasn’t much friendly about it. “Welcome to SEAL Team 7.”

 


	33. wish you'd write: Ginny fielding intrusive questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> monkshoodr: I wish you would write a fic where...a reporter asks Ginny if she can confirm the accuracy of the gossip blog tell-alls from Lawson groupies about his dick size...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, a very long ficlet or a very short fic, I wish you would write a fic where..., I was gonna do secret dating, but this came out instead

“I’m sorry, what?” Ginny managed not to sputter the question, but it was a close thing. Had she really just heard what she thought she did? Was she dreaming? Did someone spike her water as some ill-advised prank?

The smiling woman just repeated her question, apparently seeing no problem with demanding answers to something like this. “Any truth to rumors about some of your teammates’ endowments?”

 _Endowments?_  Was she for real?

This was why Amelia’d told her to never stop for questions outside of scheduled press conferences. Well, lesson fucking learned.

Still, Ginny laughed, awkward and at a loss. “Sorry, they don’t keep me up to date on all their charitable causes,” she hedged, trying to sidle away. 

The reporter—and seriously, what kind of publication was running something like this? At least she wasn’t filming; there’d be no footage of Ginny Baker stuttering about the rumored sizes of her teammates’ junk—just laughed and leaned in. “C’mon. Between us girls. The world’s dying to know if the Padres are as”—here, she paused to smirk significantly—” _gifted_  as the rumor mill says. I’ve heard some particularly impressive things about Mike Lawson.”

“Uh, he’s an impressive guy,” Ginny replied, automatic, before realizing how bad that would sound on it’s own. She rushed to add, “On the field. As for the other stuff, I have my own changing room, y’know? I’m not exactly the person to ask about this. And anyway, I have no idea what the rumors even are, so it’s not like I could say if he— any of them measure up.”

She coughed at the word choice, but it was all out there. Before the reporter could think to fill her in on the specificities of the gossip surrounding her teammates’ junk, Ginny beat a hasty retreat, nearly jogging to the team bus like it might leave her behind. 

When she collapsed into a seat, a slightly hysterical giggle escaped her. 

Ginny’s seat mate turned a critical eye her way. 

“Are you blushing?” Mike Lawson demanded, leaning in close enough that the smell of his body wash swept over her. 

“No,” she snapped, slumping in her seat and praying that he’d drop it. 

Fat chance of that. 

Eyes narrowed, he jerked his chin out the window, where the crowd of fans and reporters without access to the field and clubhouse still milled. “What’d she ask you, then?”

Well, if he wanted to know…

“She asked if I knew how big your dick is.”

The only indicator that Mike had any reaction to that announcement was a slight widening of his eyes and a pause in his gum chewing. In no time at all, though, his face was back to it’s arrogantly pleasant default. 

 _What an asshole_ , Ginny found herself thinking, if a little fondly. 

“And what’d you tell her, Baker?” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows for effect.

So much for fondness. 

Ginny huffed and crossed her arms. “Shoulda told her you had a micro-penis,” she muttered mulishly.

“Like anyone’d believe you.”

“Maybe that’s what all the rumors are,” she speculated, ignoring him. It wasn’t like Mike needed to know those rumors apparently painted him in an  _impressive_  light. “They’re just warning the poor women of San Diego away from you and your micro-penis.”

Mike rolled his eyes, but he was still fucking smirking. “That your angle, then? You gonna spread lies about me to cut down on your competition?”

“If the rumors are to be believed, Lawson,” she replied sweetly, “there’s not much to compete for.”

Just then, the bus pulled up to their hotel and Ginny was suddenly aware of all their teammates rustling around, gathering their things, and disembarking. She and Mike were lucky that everyone’d stopped trying to listen in on their conversations a long time ago. To be fair, they didn’t usually discuss stuff like this. It was mostly drawn out arguments about past calls and the correct pitch to throw in highly specific, unlikely scenarios. Their teammates were sick of it.

As Ginny made to stand and make her escape, eager to leave talk about Mike’s dick here, she was waylaid. 

Mike grabbed hold of her wrist and crowded against her in the aisle. They were alone on the bus, the last of their teammates stepping onto the sidewalk and the driver following to help unload luggage. He turned her to face him, but Ginny didn’t get a chance to appreciate the press of his body against hers, too caught up in the intensity of his expression. There was something dark and dangerous in his eyes. Ginny shivered in spite of the lick of heat it sent through her. 

“You ever wanna find the truth out for yourself, rookie, you know exactly where to find me.”

(Suffice to say, when Ginny finally got a chance to do some investigating of her own, she was proud to report that Mike Lawson more than lived up to all the gossip. 

He was, in one word:  _impressive.)_

 


	34. wish you'd write: VS Angel!Ginny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: I wish you write a fic where Ginny is the newest Victoria's secret angel sensation and Mike is still his Padre's self they meet and BOOM Bawson happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, I wish you would write a fic where..., looking back, I've got no idea how I kept those first one's so short

“Man, did you see this? There’re a bunch of underwear models sitting right behind the dugout.”

The sudden rush of his teammates to climb onto the fucking benches to get a good look had Mike rolling his eyes. It wasn’t as if they were walking around the ballpark in thongs and bras. Anyway, they were in LA. Wasn’t every other sucker in the city a model or actor or something? 

If Mike still took a second before settling in behind the plate to look over the row of bombshells just behind the visitor’s dugout, that was his business, okay? He might not know what exactly qualified someone to be an underwear model, but based on what he was seeing, he could only assume these women were very good at their jobs. 

Jesus, they were hot. 

The hottest thing, though, came when he was chasing down a pop foul. Mike had to pull up to avoid tumbling into the dugout, but his attention wasn’t on the broken ankle he’d narrowly missed or the hoots and jeers of his teammates. 

No, that was all for one of the models, with a headful of springy curls and a smile to die for, who snagged the plummeting ball out of the air without so much as batting an eye. Pressed up against the dugout fence, Mike couldn’t help but stare as she laughed, accepting her friends’ congratulations and smiling for the cameras, her perfect face blown up on the jumbotron. 

Mike couldn’t stare at her forever (much as he might wish otherwise). The game went on, and he only let himself glance her way once an inning. A couple times, he would’ve sworn she was looking back.

Still, it was a nice surprise when he pushed out of the clubhouse, freshly showered and ready to hit the town after a solid win, only to pull up short to find her leaning casually against the hallway wall. 

She flipped the ball to him, and up close, her smile was nearly overwhelming. “Autograph that for me?” she asked, voice low and husky and going straight to Mike’s head. 

“If you tell me who to make it out to,” he replied, advancing on he prettiest woman he’d laid eyes on in a long time. And if she could handle herself on the field the way he suspected, Mike was already halfway to falling in love. 

“It’s Ginny,” she said, her face tipping up to his, and all thoughts of hitting the town went straight to hell. He had an Angel to get to know. “Ginny Baker.

 


	35. wish you'd write: Romance Bowl, Mike vs. Blip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: I wish you would write a fic where Mike and Blip have a Who's more Romantic contest and try to one up one another. Evelyn and Ginny just laugh at their guys and reap the rewards. Maybe include a "Magic Mike" moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, I wish you would write a fic where..., please go appreciate [this music video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzEq3qMLToM)

“Babe,” Mike frowned, pausing in the rhythmic unbuttoning of his shirt. D’Angelo crooned in the background. “I’m trying to be romantic, here. Busting out all my best moves. Would it kill you to pretend to pay attention?”

Ginny tossed her phone away, only a little guilty. She and Evelyn had been trading updates on the Romance Bowl that’d taken over both of their weekends: from the breakfast in bed Blip had prepared and Mike’s expert foot massage to the evening of dancing while the twins stayed with their grandparents and the impromptu skinny dipping in Mike’s crystal clear pool. 

(if Ginny left out the several rounds she and Mike went poolside beneath the stars, that was only because Evelyn needed to learn boundaries. Ginny knew far too much about her friends’ sex life.)

The unsent message glowed on her screen for a few moments before darkening as Ginny crawled down the bed towards her sulking boyfriend. 

“I’m sorry, Lawson,” she purred, rising to her knees to tug him in for a heated kiss. When she pulled away, she promised, “You’ve got my full attention now. Lay it on me.”

(When, in the morning, Ginny finally thought to check her phone again, the message was still waiting. 

_Yeah, okay. Blip knows what he’s doing. But I still wouldn’t trade Mike for anything.)_

 


	36. wish you'd write: Reporter!Mike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mindykahling: I wish you'd write a fic where reporter, Mike asks "are you hitting on me?" And the first woman ballplayer, Ginny replies, "Been trying to for a while now thanks for noticing"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, I wish you'd write a fic where..., this is begging to be expanded, but I'm not sure I have anything else for it

“Hey!” Mike called out, breaking away from the scrum of reporters surrounding Duarte, clamoring for something more than a few bits of smirking Spanish. Good fucking luck to them. Mike knew the kid was playing a game with them all and he, for one, wasn’t willing to participate. Not when there were other players he could interview. “How do you feel about giving me an exclusive?”

Ginny Baker paused at the door to her changing room and turned to him, one eyebrow raised. “Why don’t you buy a girl a drink first?”

Mike grinned. “If that’s all it takes to get an exclusive, then sure. You can have all the drinks you want.”

The pitcher’s smile turned sly and more than a little dangerous. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Lawson.”

Mike swallowed and wondered when they turned up the heat in the clubhouse. It was never this warm the few seasons he’d been in the Show. Still, he pasted on his customary smirk, unwilling to show her how she was getting to him. “Why, Ginny Baker. Are you flirting with me?”

There was more he was going to say.  _Trying to butter me up for better coverage?_  But Ginny’s brow furrowed and she examined him for a long moment. All his words dried up. What was she thinking?

Finally, a little laugh escaped her and she shook her head. 

“Have been all season, Mike Lawson,” she mimicked, patting him on the chest as she backed into her changing room. “Thanks for noticing.”

(Mike would never understand how he’d missed out on months of Ginny Baker flirting with him, but once he got her out for those promised drinks and she showed no signs of stopping, he figured he’d eventually get over it.)

 


	37. wish you'd write: The Most Beautiful Woman In The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> osmarinamo: I wish you would write a fic where Mike and Ginny are neighbours and either a) they only catch fleeting glimpses of each other; b) they borrow each other stuff; or c) whatever works for you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, I wish you would write a fic where..., a very long ficlet or a very short fic, please go enjoy the original story of [The Most Beautiful Man In The World](https://ofgeography.tumblr.com/post/157409983861/the-most-beautiful-man-in-the-world-who-lives-in) if you haven't already

Mike was seriously reconsidering the wisdom of wearing a flannel shirt in the middle of a San Diego summer. A San Diego summer going through a heatwave, in fact. And he’d just had to go and walk home from work. He’d sweat through his undershirt in a matter of minutes and the flannel was in no better shape. His jeans clung damply to his thighs, and he was positive his face was red and splotchy where it wasn’t covered by his heat trap of a beard. Maybe today was the day he’d shave it all off.

Slumped against the wall of the elevator, Mike seriously considered it, even as his building’s A/C began to work its magic. All he had to do was make it the ride up to his floor without passing out, and he could change and begin the transformation back into a regular human being and not the actual swamp monster he felt like. Easy enough. 

Except, because the universe was cold and unfeeling (or wasn’t and just really fucking hated him), it wasn’t. 

Because just as the doors began to close, a depressingly familiar voice rang out, “Hold the elevator.”

Automatically, Mike stuck his hand out—he might look like a monster, but he wouldn’t act like one—and in no time at all, The Most Beautiful Woman In The World joined him in the elevator. 

That wasn’t just his knee-jerk assessment of her—though, come to think of it, it might’ve been. Mike saw her around all the time. Usually leaving the building as he limped back, huffing and nearly as gross as he must look now, from his runs. Most recently, she’d come across him fighting with his mailbox in a pair of ratty pajama pants and a t-shirt with at least three holes he hadn’t yet tossed. It was pretty much par for the course for his run ins with her. 

Because she was The Most Beautiful Woman In The World, though, she always looked immaculate, even on the days Mike saw her leaving for the gym, decked out in more spandex than was good for his health. 

Today was no different. There was no sheen of sweat on her golden brown skin, though an awful lot of it was exposed between her curly hair swept off her neck and the thin straps of her dress. Mike tore his gaze away and stared at the floor, willing her to ignore him and his sweat-logged shirt.

“Thanks,” The Most Beautiful Woman In The World said in spite of his attempts to blend into the paneling. 

He risked a glance at her and she was actually smiling at him, bright and open. She had dimples. It was a little overwhelming. He simply nodded back, distrusting his ability to do anything else. 

The elevator climbed as quiet fell. 

The Most Beautiful Woman In The World shifted on her feet, Mike was sure to get away from him. Instead, though, she turned towards him and stuck out her hand. He stared blankly at it for a moment before lifting his gaze to her face. 

Was it just him, or did she look a little flushed? 

“I’ve seen you around pretty often,” she explained, her hand still hovering between them, “but I don’t think I’ve ever introduced myself. I’m Ginny.”

“Mike,” he managed to reply, finally putting his rough hand in her slim one. “Nice to meet you.”

She smiled again and if it’d been overwhelming the first time, Mike had no idea what this one was. Her whole face lit up, brown eyes dancing and pink tongue poking out between her teeth. All the while, her hand remained in his. Even as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, she didn’t pull away. 

Mike cleared his throat. It was his floor. But there wasn’t a chance in hell he was letting go first. Her fingers tightened around his for a split second before trailing away. He took his cue. The doors nearly slid shut on him as he tried to make his exit, but the soft huff of her amusement was almost worth it. When Mike was in the hallway, he turned back to her. 

“I’ll, uh. I’ll see you around?”

The doors were closing again, but through the narrowing gap, The Most Beautiful Woman In The World—Ginny, apparently—replied, “I really hope so.”

 


	38. wish you'd write: The Butt of the Joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> legendsalwaysdiehard: i wish you wrote a fic where mike slides foot first into 3rd and tears a giant hole over his butt and NO ONE tells him. he only figures it out after all the ridiculous jokes in the club house. its not a bawson prompt, but if you want to include that go for it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, I wish you would write a fic where..., Mike's butt is a thing of beauty, I can see why they wouldn't tell him

It’s not every day that Mike Lawson successfully legs out a triple. Add in the fact that he slides into the base spikes first and nimbly pops back up before the throw even gets there, and he’s feeling pretty pleased with himself. He jaws a little bit, something probably more arrogant than he’d usually say, at the third baseman and ignores the way the man’s mouth snaps shut, like Mike’s not worth replying to. He’s probably not.

He shrugs it off and hands his ankle guard and gloves over to the third base coach, then sets about seeing if he can somehow taunt the pitcher into balking and sending him home. 

As it turns out, he can’t, but it doesn’t matter. Robles lines one into the right field corner, and Mike doesn’t have to do much more than trot the last 90 feet before heading into the dugout. If the guys are a little more enthusiastic—smiling wide and laughing even—as he takes his high fives, Mike figures his triple was just that impressive. 

When he takes up his post at the fence, preening and coincidentally right next to where Ginny’s stood all game, he makes sure to nudge her and nod out towards the field. 

“In case you missed it, rookie,” he drawls, “that’s how you get an extra-base hit.”

“Rely on the outfielder to bobble the ball and miss his cutoff?” she volleys back, nodding thoughtfully. “Seems like a good plan, old man.”

“C’mon, Ginny,” Blip says, coming up on Mike’s other side. The center fielder claps him on the back, grinning. “Captain really tore it up out there.”

“You shouldn’t rag on him,” offers up Sonny from the bench. 

“Yeah, he made it seem like a real breeze,” is Dusty’s defense.

A bright smirk lights up Ginny’s face, her eyes darting between their teammates. For a split second, her gaze drops to the back of his pants, probably to the dirt ground into the cloth there. But maybe she’s appreciating the curve of his ass, too. It’s a good one, if Mike does say so himself. 

That smirk is still in place when Ginny meets Mike’s gaze and says, “I guess he really did get a good rip in, didn’t he?”

“Damn right I did!” Mike has no idea why there’s so much suppressed laughter in their voices, but doesn’t appreciate it at all. “Of course, how could anyone miss that hole?”

He, of course, means the hole in the outfield defense. It isn’t until the game’s over and he’s undressing, though, that he realizes why Ginny—and all the Padres within hearing distance, actually—so immediately and helplessly burst into gales of laughter.

(Mike will never admit it, but as annoyed as he is that they all let him finish the game with half his ass exposed, the memory of Ginny collapsed against his side, heaving with giggles, mostly makes up for it.)


	39. wish you'd write: Team Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: i wish you'd write a fid where the team is bonding with drinking games (never have i ever/ 21 questions/ whatever) and the tension between ginny and mike becomes obvious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ask meme, i wish you would write a fic where..., sometime in the future, probably around season 3

It was a foregone conclusion that Lawson would be Ginny’s partner for any and all icebreakers this spring training. If it weren’t, the glare that sent Robles back the way he came certainly cleared things up. For her part, Ginny didn’t really notice, just turned back to her captain and raised a brow.

“You and me?” 

“If you insist,” he drawled.

Unwilling to watch more of whatever passed for flirting with these two, Blip cleared his throat. “Before the season starts, we’re gonna make sure we’re all real comfortable with each other. So, the name of the game is ‘Attached at the Hip.’ Everyone’s gonna get a slip of paper with a body part written on it. You and your partner make sure those body parts are touching all night. You slip up, you take a shot. Got it?”

There was a round of cheers as everyone started picking body parts from the hat Blip passed around and laughter as the match ups were revealed. A pair of rookies had to knee to back, which Blip did not envy. Sonny and Butch got cheek to cheek and ended up standing with their backs to one another, ass cheek to ass cheek.

“What?” Sonny grinned. “You didn’t specify.”

Things were rowdy and rolling towards a fun, if slightly ridiculous evening of team bonding. Right until it was Mike and Ginny’s turn.

Mike rolled his eyes but didn’t try to weasel his way out of having to touch Ginny all evening. Not that Blip really thought there was much chance of that. He read from his slip, the one word conveying how absurd he thought this all was, “Hand.”

If some of the Padres veterans deflated at that wholly innocent selection, they weren’t disappointed long.

Not when Ginny’s voice rang out and any and all sound in the room stopped.

“Ass.”

To anyone who didn’t know her, Ginny probably sounded dry and unimpressed. 

But Blip did know her. Knew her even better than almost anyone, so he, at least, see how much she reveled in making the rest of the team uncomfortable. She did love to destroy people’s expectations of her.

“You can sw—”

Before the offer could make it all the way out of Dusty’s mouth, Ginny was shrugging and shoving her hand in Mike Lawson’s back pocket. Mike blinked, but otherwise didn’t betray any feelings on the subject. He simply crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at his gawking teammates. 

“First one to lose has to run extra bases tomorrow,” he promised before turning to the bar, Ginny trailing along behind him.

It was Mike’s easy acceptance of this development that nudged at Blip’s suspicions. If Mike were still trying to keep his distance from Ginny, trying not to act on the feelings he’d admitted to last year after Blip caught him brooding over her new boyfriend, this kind of game would be torture. 

But Mike was entirely at ease tonight. His shoulders remained relaxed when she rested her chin on one. He didn’t blink when she grinned up at him as she tried to convince him to pay for her next beer. He let her herd him around the room without complaint, for all intents and purposes unaware of her slim hand cupped against the curve of his ass.

If anything, he actually seemed used to it all.

Which was what tipped Blip from suspicious to pretty fucking sure something he didn’t want to know about was going on. 

Taking his elbow off Hanan’s shoulder, Blip downed his penalty shot (and Hanan’s for good measure). If he didn’t remember it in the morning, realizations made tonight didn’t count. At least, that was what he was going to tell himself while he resolved to avoid looking straight on at Ginny and Mike for the rest of the evening.

Of course, they couldn’t take it easy on him. Not when Ginny’s fifth shot made her handsier than usual and both of her palms landed on Mike’s ass as she leaned against his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. The soft, fond look on Mike’s face said far more about the status of their relationship than Ginny’s appreciative squeezes.

Blip looked away fast. 

(What he didn’t see, Evelyn couldn’t grill him about later.)


	40. wish you'd write: Student/Teacher Bawson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: I wish you'd write a bawson student/teacher professor/student etc au? Obviously like all legal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, I wish you would write a fic where..., Teacher!Ginny, Student!Mike

Ginny huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. The hallway outside the pitching lanes was still empty, as it’d been for the past fifteen minutes. She was about a second away from tapping her toe in exasperation, not that there was anyone around to appreciate it. Which was the entire problem. 

If her captain couldn’t bother to be on time, when he’d practically begged for her help, Ginny wasn’t going to let it bother her. She’d go home and have dinner and forget that she’d ever thought this was a good idea.

Of course, as soon as she made up her mind to leave, Mike had to go and show up.

“Baker!” She didn’t stop walking, didn’t turn back to him, even as he called, “Where are you going? You promised to help!”

“And you told me you wouldn’t be late,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Guess we’re both liars.”

“It’s not my fault I’m late, rook,” he lied remorselessly. More importantly, though, his voice was much closer. Had she been walking slow to give him the chance to catch up? Ginny shook off the thought as Mike continued, “I had an errand.”

Against her better judgment, Ginny whirled on him, jabbing a finger at his chest to cover up how startled she was by his closeness. There was scarcely room between them for her to prod him with anything like satisfaction. Still, he rocked back on his heels when she pushed, his arms braced behind him and smiling fondly in the face of Ginny’s annoyance.

“Well, it’s not my fault, old man,” she bit out, “that you felt the need to brag about being able to throw a perfect screwball and someone decided to call you out on it.”

“C’mon,” he coaxed, giving Ginny that grin that never failed to make her melt. Not this time. This time, she’d be strong, she told herself, continuing to glare. “I know you’re dying for the chance to tell me everything I’m doing wrong. Boss me around a little.”

She frowned at him, thinking. There were lots of things Mike did wrong, any number of which she could tell him about any time she chose. Ginny didn’t see why he thought this was such a draw.

(If, in the privacy of her own thoughts, she could see the appeal of bossing Mike Lawson around, Ginny wasn’t going to let that sway her.)

So, she backtracked. A little suspicious, she asked, “What was the errand?” 

Mike didn’t need any clarification. From behind his back, he produced a shiny, red apple. He held it out to her, still grinning. “An apple for teacher?”

Ginny didn’t let herself laugh, no matter how much she might want to. Instead, she snatched the apple out of his hand and ordered, “Get in and warm up.”

“See,” he chuckled, “told you you’d like telling me what to do.”

The fact that he winked as he went inside proved that he didn’t quite mind being told. 

It was a hell of a thought to have about her captain. 

Finally letting that disbelieving burble of laughter free, Ginny took a bite from the apple, followed Mike into the lanes, and wondered what, exactly, she’d gotten herself into.

 


	41. wish you'd write: Blip wishing he were that oblivious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: I wish you'd write a fic where ginny & mike start to both realize they like each other & tease each other with touches, glances etc to get the other one to make a move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, I wish you would write a fic where..., Blip POV, Bliplyn

“Do they really not see it?” Evelyn muttered to her husband, handing over a clean glass for him to dry.

At the dinner table behind them, Ginny and Mike were still bickering about…  _something_. After they moved on from acceptable Halloween candy, picking through the remains of the twins’ stash, Blip had mostly tuned them out. 

What he couldn’t tune out, though, was the way they couldn’t stop teasing and touching one another. It was bad enough that they’d sat next to each other on the bench, their shoulders brushing. But then Mike had pulled on Ginny’s ponytail, and Ginny tickled him in retaliation. He’d pinned her arms to her sides, nearly dragging her into his lap in the process. They hadn’t moved from this position in the last ten minutes, one of Ginny’s legs draped across Mike’s thighs even as she tried to make him eat an Almond Joy. It wasn’t like Mike was really struggling to get away, though, since Blip was sure his fingers were still curled around her ankle the way they’d been when he and Evelyn began clearing the table.

And yet they both insisted they were just friends. That they’d never be anything  _more_ than friends.

Just friends, Blip’s ass.

He shook his head and sighed in long suffering fondness. “Baby, if they could see it, they wouldn’t even be here. They’d be holed up somewhere and we’d be lucky to hear from them before Spring Training starts.”

Ev grinned and nudged her husband. “You think Mike’s still got the stamina for that?”

Blip’s face crumpled in disgust at the thought. “I don’t wanna think about it,” he muttered, drying a plate more aggressively than was precisely necessary.

“You brought it up!” Evelyn laughed, flicking sudsy water right in his face. 

“Oh, it is on, Evie,” he sputtered, only giving his wife a second’s head start before chasing her down, flicking her with his damp towel. Evelyn shrieked as he caught her, arms wrapped tight around her waist, but she was smiling, wide and bright, and her pruny fingers found purchase on his shoulders as she drew him down. 

Blip went, more than willingly enough. 

God, he loved this woman. Even if she was a little too invested in their friends’ sex lives. 

“Hey, love birds,” Mike called, breaking them apart, “get a room!”

The fact that he apparently found no irony in his complaint when he’d been playing footsie with Ginny all night wasn’t a surprise, but it did make Blip and Evelyn roll their eyes, perfectly in sync.

Ginny laughed, eyes squeezed shut, but rocking into Mike. The look he gave her was pure fondness and one Blip recognized. 

It was how he looked at Ev. 

The look was gone by the time Ginny opened her eyes and grinned up at their ordinarily gruff captain. “That’s probably our cue to get out of their hair, yeah, old man?”

“Can’t have them scarring you for life,” he returned, eyes following her every move as she disentangled herself and stood up, stretching. “If you stop calling me names, I’ll even give you a ride home.”

“I don’t know,” she teased, like there was any chance Mike wouldn’t be driving her home, no matter what he threatened. “That seems like a pretty steep price. I think I’d rather just pay for the Uber.”

The flirting didn’t stop until they’d left the house. Well, it probably didn’t stop until well after that, but once they were gone, Blip didn’t have to listen to it anymore. 

He and Ev stood at the open door, waving at their departing friends. 

Evelyn shook her head, sighing. “They’ve gotta be blind not to see it.”

“Or stubborn.”

“Or both.” She shut the door and leaned heavily against it, thinking. Blip was immediately suspicious. “If we—”

“Ev, no.”

“But just think—”

“Evie,” he groaned, walking back to the kitchen to finish the dishes, his scheming wife trailing behind him.

Mike and Ginny were adults, for all they didn’t act like it some of the time. They could figure themselves out. 

Well. Blip hoped they could.

Because if they didn’t, he had no doubt that Ev was more than willing to drag him into it. And no one (besides his wife, probably) wanted that.

 


	42. wish you'd write: Possessive!Mike (follow up to guys like you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: I wish you'd write a fic with jealous!mike where they're at a party/club etc with the team and mike gets possessive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, I wish you would write a fic where..., [guys like you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10576425/chapters/23371383) universe
> 
>  
> 
> **EXPLICIT CONTENT BELOW**

The bass from the DJ’s mix thumps, low and heavy against Ginny’s sternum, but it isn’t the reason her ears are ringing.

No, that’s all down to the way his knuckle is currently dragging against her moist lips. 

No, not her mouth.

This is what she gets for dressing up to celebrate. Every time Ginny’s put on a skirt or dress for months, she can’t help but think about the first time Mike slipped his hands underneath one.

She hadn’t realized she’d be reliving it tonight.

“Mike,” she hisses, even as her head falls back against his shoulder, hips swiveling both to the beat and the insistent pressure her captain’s exerting between her thighs. 

Well, actually, he’s no longer her captain. Not after playing their final game of the season earlier today. 

(And what a game. Going out in the championship round of the College World Series is one thing, but going out as the winners is practically indescribable.)

At least he’s still her boyfriend. 

Her boyfriend who’s decided that he’s sick of watching his girlfriend dance with their raucous, victory-flushed teammates and not him and would like to remind her who’s taking her home tonight.

(It wasn’t as if he’d ever actually danced with her before, not in public anyway. Sometimes, he’s swayed with her in the quiet of his apartment, or spun her around when she inevitably starts dancing as she vacuums his living room, but it hardly counts as  _dancing_.)

After extracting her from her giggling salsa with Livan by hooking burly arm tight around her waist, he’d pulled her to this dark corner of the dance floor and proceeded to show her just how wrong she’d been. 

 _Should’ve known he can dance_ , Ginny thought when he first started to sway his hips to the music, chest pressed flush against her back.  _He’s too good in bed to have no rhythm._

If Ginny’d thought about it, she would’ve concluded Mike wanted privacy to escape their teammates’ attention—not that there was any chance they didn’t know, not after she’d nearly barreled Mike over and landed a smacking kiss on his mouth after the final out of the day—but she hadn’t once considered he wanted to fly under the radar for  _this_.

“Gin,” he murmurs back, somehow perfectly audible over the din of the music. 

She can hear the teasing grin in his voice, too. Any other circumstance, and Ginny knows she’d be rolling her eyes, but given the fact Mike chooses that moment to curl his fingers inside her, she doesn’t even consider it.

Still, she gasps, “You really think this is the time?”

He tucks his face against her neck, the drag of his beard on her sweaty skin enough to make her shudder. “I thought an hour ago was the time. Wanted to take you back to your room and  _really celebrate_ ”—the sheer desire in Mike’s voice makes Ginny aware all over again of the thick jut of his dick pressing against her ass—“but you wanted to stay and keep dancing. At least now we both get a little of what we want.”

“And this is what I want?”

His fingers crook against her g-spot, heel of his palm firm on her clit. It’s more than enough answer.

Ginny’s more than willing to put out in the empty stacks of the library’s third floor or Mike’s car or, okay, one time in the infield grass in the dead of night, but she’s going to draw the line at getting off on a crowded dance floor. If Mike’s fingers continue to work her over, though, that line is going to be in her rearview very quickly. 

Summoning up all her willpower, Ginny pushes Mike’s hand away. He lets it drop, and even moves back, but she doesn’t let him. Tangling her fingers with his, aware that her juices are smearing against her hand and not caring at all, she begins to weave her way through the crowd. 

Her bearded shadow follows easily enough, but she’s sure he’s got some questions. 

She might have some answers.

“You wanna celebrate, Lawson,” she grins over her shoulder, tugging him towards the door, “then let’s go celebrate.”

 


	43. headcanon ficlet: Drunk Dialing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> legendsalwaysdiehard: your "drunk dialing" pitch question kills me me bc all i can imagine is ginny checking her voicemail and hearing mike breathe for a sec and then yelling, "shit! it's voicemail!" and proceeds to hang up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: headcanon, inspired by [these questions](https://megaphonemonday.tumblr.com/post/165849882076/questions-i-have-that-wont-ever-be-answered-bc)

_This made me laugh out loud, so thank you for that!_

Here’s the thing. I’ve been wondering about this particular question for basically months. Clearly they call each other. Clearly it means something when Ginny ignores his call in 105. (She doesn’t even let it ring out!) And I like to think aside from that one instance, he doesn’t actually have the occasion to hear her voicemail message that often. Except maybe he ghosts during the offseason and then Rachel leaves him and he gets drunk and:

He’s expecting to hear more of her voice. That’s why he called in the first place. There’s too much whiskey and regret sloshing through his veins to listen to the part of his brain that tells him it’s not a good idea. 

God, he just wants to hear her voice. Wants to hear her warm laugh spill down the line as she tells him he’s being an idiot. Wants to let her call him an idiot and an asshole and the lost Duck Dynasty cousin and whatever other names she can come up with, just as long as she keeps talking to him. Maybe once he does, it’ll feel less like the world’s collapsing in on him. Just one shot, that’s all he needs. It’s been so long. 

But all that rings in his ears is silence. Sluggishly, he goes back over the words he knew were hers, her tone and timbre too familiar for him to mistake. Which is when he realizes.

“Shit!” He can hear the slur even through the haze of finely aged liquor and tries not to think how much worse it’ll be when she listens to this in the morning. If she even listens. “It’s voicemail.”

He’s already pouring himself another glass by the time the phone’s screen goes dark.

 


	44. ficlet: "You need to relax" (follow up to guys like you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mikeginsanity: Squeeee!! I love the snippet non-epilogue thingy from guys like you. I particularly love this: "Ginny’s more than willing to put out in the empty stacks of the library’s third floor or Mike’s car or, okay, one time in the infield grass in the dead of night,..."... Can you write a smutlet about the time in tyre infield grass in the dead of night? (Yes I AM a perv like that. No I am not ashamed to beg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, pre-smut, inspired by [chapter 42](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980407/chapters/27749118), this may or may not ever be expanded

“If we get caught by camp sec—”

“Camp sec,” he scoffs, laying down on the grass between home and the mound and tucking his arms behind his head, “isn’t gonna give a shit. We’re two baseball players on the baseball field. Besides, Russell loves me.”

Ginny snorts, but still stretches out next to him. “Russell doesn’t like anyone,” she counters, settling her head on one burly bicep and curling an arm around his middle.

“Goes to show what you know,” Mike jokes, shifting so he can get an arm around her, too. Ginny’s head ends up pillowed on his chest, just above his heart. “He loves me.”

She grins, but doesn’t laugh.   

“You need to relax,” he murmurs, somewhere above her head. 

It’s no that she doesn’t want to. San Diego is barreling straight into another heady summer, but there’s a cool breeze tonight, jasmine and orange blossom wafting on the air. But there’re too many thoughts whirling through her head for Ginny to completely appreciate it. 

The Aztecs might actually make it to the College World Series this year. It’s Mike’s last chance to take home that honor. Just last week, he walked across the stage and accepted his diploma, to the raucous cheers of Ginny and the rest of his teammates. And to top it all off, tomorrow the Rule 4 Draft began. 

Ginny sighs and chews on her lip, staring up at the sky. The stars really are beautiful tonight. Mike picked a good spot.

“Do I need to distract you?” he teases, reading her far too easily.

“How?”

His hand lands on her stomach, fingertips sliding under the edge of her shirt. Shivers erupt across her skin. 

Still, she can’t resist pointing out, “You can’t solve everything with sex, Mike.”

“No,” he agrees, hand working its way up her ribs just shy of the sensitive skin under her bra, “but it’ll work in this case.”

He certainly isn’t wrong.

Still, she dithers. Campus is pretty quiet; summer classes haven’t yet started and most students have gone home. If she’s ever gonna do something this public, the circumstances tonight are pretty ideal.

“Give it your best shot,” she says, like Mike ever does anything else. 

Immediately, Mike rolls and Ginny finds herself on her back in the grass, her boyfriend’s lips moving insistently against hers, his hands wandering. She kisses him back, sighing into his mouth and giving herself over to whatever pleasure Mike wants to give her.

(Needless to say, by the time he’s done with her, Ginny’s mind is a hazy, sated blank.)

 


	45. fic stub: Baking!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> legendsalwaysdiehard: did i just read "baker" in your tags? like "baking" baker?? OOOOHHH MAN thoughts on Bakery!au? is ginny the baker (ehehe) or is mike? if mike, then does he make the joke about ginny's last name or does she? (definitely not pressuring you to write this! i just love bouncing ideas off of you!!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, AU ideas, in any universe Mike's heart eyes for Ginny are legendary

_Haha, yes! Baking is one of the few things that I can actually write without faking most things._

I feel like I remember someone else writing a rival bakers AU, but I’m stealing the idea, anyway. Did that fic ever get finished? I feel like it didn’t because I’d remember that, but?

I see Mike being an old school baker. His bakery’s all housemade bread—think about what all that kneading would do to those arms!—and rustic pies and scones: hearty stuff. So, when another bakery opens across the street, this one with fancy French pastries and cutesy cupcakes, he’s not too worried. How often can anyone need $100 cakes, after all? It’ll be out of business in a couple months, tops.

Except, Baker’s Dozen doesn’t go out of business. 

And after Mike finally meets it’s owner, the unexpectedly pretty Ginny Baker, and gets in his first—of what he quickly hopes will be many—arguments with her, he can’t even bring himself to want it to.

Alternatively: A GBBO-style AU would be pretty amazing. Ginny and Mike start out on a pretty antagonistic note, which of course doesn’t stop viewers from shipping them. Things, of course, smooth out and it’s not long before Mike’s singing Ginny’s praises in basically all of his talking heads. And when they both make it to the finals, it’s so so clear how much he wants her to win. How much he thinks she deserves to win. 

So, when Ginny’s name is the one that’s called, Mike’s smile is 100% genuine. So is his shock when she turns to him, curls a hand into his apron, and lays a long, enthusiastic kiss on him. 

(He gets over it pretty quickly.)

 


	46. how I'd write: Soulmates AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Im in love with you and your writing and I've always wondered what's your take on Bawson and soulmates?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: ficlet, AU ideas

_Aw, that’s very sweet of you to say! Thank you!_

_I’m gonna be honest and say I’m not super into soulmate AUs? I definitely don’t hate them or anything, I’m just skeptical of the whole predestined lovers thing. But, the bug’s gotten to me[before](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F7535932%2Fchapters%2F17132791&t=NTBiZGI0MjNiMDAzNzJkMGVkNGVjZWVmNDQ2MGNlZjJhNDVlNzQ4YixYS0dRb2JKTQ%3D%3D&b=t%3Ak_ZQCyWiXU2jCRI122R5Dw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fmegaphonemonday.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F166269367721%2Fim-in-love-with-you-and-your-writing-and-ive&m=0), so it’s not impossible that it’d get to me again? _

* * *

 If I were to tackle a bawson soulmate scenario, I think I’d go with dreams? Where you dream about your soulmate; their past, present, future. Not lucid dreams, though, where you’re in control and remember everything clearly when you wake up. Just snatches of their voice, the color of their hair, the spray of freckles on the inside of their arm. 

For Ginny, it’s not strange to dream about Mike Lawson. Maybe, if she were to think about it, it’d be strange how often it happens, how he sometimes has a beard though he’s never shown up on her TV with one, but she never thinks to connect it with those old stories about soulmates. From what the other girls in school say, it’s not so weird to dream about a celebrity crush. It’s nice to be like them in  _some_  way. 

Except, all through the minors, and even her first night in San Diego, Ginny keeps dreaming of him. It isn’t even just a product of her frustrated libido (though, let’s be honest, it’s probably some of that, too). 

But it’s not until she’s standing outside that bar, Mike’s hands on her hips, his mouth so close that she can feel his beard whisper against hers that she realizes she’s been here before. Only, she’d been dreaming, then. She’s dreamed of this exact moment. Dreamed of his warmth and his smell and the way the streetlights glow in his eyes. 

It’s a good thing his phone vibrates and they have to pull away because Ginny needs a minute—or more than a minute, if she’s being honest—to process this new reality.

Because in no reality that she’d ever thought to anticipate did Ginny Baker ever imagine even having a soulmate. Or that he’d be Mike Lawson.

 


	47. give a title, get a fic: Catch me if you can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> osmarinamo: Hiya. How about “Catch me if you can”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: send in a title, I'll tell you what fic I'd write for it; fic stub; pre-relationship; edited from original post

_Hmmm. My initial gut response is some kind of race? Yeah, no, that’s what I’m going with. There’s some kind of charity run and leading up to it, everyone gives Mike shit about how Ginny’s (and all the other Padres too, lbr) going to run circles around him so he sets out to prove them wrong and gets even more ripped than usual in the process. Cue Ginny hanging behind him during the race, and Mike thinks she’s just trying to spare his feelings, but she’s really just staring at his ass the whole way._

* * *

“You know you didn’t have to let me win, right?”

Ginny’s eyes snapped to his, cheeks flushed from the run, though she couldn’t have exerted herself too much. She'd finished the 10K behind him.

“Huh?” she asked, innocent enough that Mike almost believed her. Almost.

He scowled down at her. Not just because his knees felt like jelly. “Don’t play dumb, Baker. I know you could have run this whole thing three times over before I even left the starting block—”

“You’re not that slow, Lawson,” Ginny grinned, though the look she gave him was deeply unimpressed. “And if I cared about winning, I would have.”

“You always care about winning, rookie. Why even do this if you didn’t want to win?”

“Oh,” she said, her smile shifting from cajoling to more than a little dangerous, “I got exactly what I wanted out of this.” 

Any confusion this cryptic response inspired was quickly cleared up. Just before she turned to leave, Ginny laid a firm smack on Mike’s backside, her hand lingering—and squeezing—more than was strictly appropriate, out in public as they were. 

"Exactly what I wanted," she repeated as she walked away, her tone significant enough to make Mike wish they were somewhere much more private.

The way she swung her hips as she went, not to mention the wink she sent him over her shoulder, certainly didn’t help matters. 

But the way she went slow enough for even him and his jelly knees to catch up? That more than made up for it.

 


	48. give a title, get a fic: float like a butterfly, sting like a bee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: How about ‘float like a butterfly, sting like a bee,” for the title thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: send a title, I'll tell you what kind of fic I'd write; fic snippet; teasing; prank war; slightly edited

_It’s too obvious to go boxing, right? It feels too obvious. So, I’m thinking… a rash of pranks overtakes the Padres Clubhouse, and no one—except Blip because the man knows better—believes Mike when he tells them Ginny’s responsible. It doesn’t help that Ginny acts all wounded and hurt when he accuses her of putting craft glitter in his body wash and rigging his chair to sink every time he sits in it._

* * *

 

“Where would you get an idea like that?”

If she were less careful, she’d be overplaying this, a slim hand spread across her chest as she rears back in shocked incredulity. Ginny Baker, however, is nothing if not careful. 

She simply stares up at Mike, brow wrinkled delicately enough to convey her confusion and hurt at such an accusation. Her lips turn down in a subtle pout, and really. If this baseball thing hadn’t worked out, she would’ve made a killing in Hollywood. 

He’s not fooled by any of it, though. He scowls up—his knees practically drawn to his chest, his chair is so close to the ground—at her as forbiddingly as his position allows. Given the glint in her eyes, Mike's got a feeling it's not as intimidating as he'd like.

“Like any of these mooks would lower themselves to this.”

“Doesn’t look like  _they’ve_  lowered themselves to anything,” she returns, a bare flicker of a smirk the only indicator of her amusement.

At that, Mike levers himself up out of his seat, biting down on the groan his protesting knees and back want him to give. Once he can tower over her the way he’s used to, he fixes Ginny with a gimlet eye. “These dummies might not believe me, might think you’re too serious about the game to get up to shit like this, but believe me, Baker, I will prove you’ve been behind all this. And once I do, oh,” he chuckles, dark as a promise, “you’re gonna regret it.”

There’s nothing subtle about the smirk on her face now, or the interest that’s sparked in her eyes. As soon as she’s let him see it, though, it’s gone. Ginny shakes her head at him, the picture of rueful concern. She pats his cheek, a little harder than is strictly necessary. 

“I think you’re getting a little paranoid in your old age, captain,” she says, though it sounds like a warning.  

Mike doesn’t growl in frustration as she saunters away, but it is a close call.

Oh, he’s going to make her pay for this. Just as soon as he can prove she’s been behind it.

 


	49. give a title, get a fic: Player of the year: Ginny Baker-Lawson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: "Player of the year: Ginny Baker-Lawson"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: send me a title, I'll tell you the fic I'd write for it; fic stub; established relationship; edited from original

_While of course I want all the recognition and good things for Ginny Baker, here’s something with slightly lower stakes. Ginny’s skeptical about the outlet awarding her with this honor and Mike talks her around._

* * *

“I like the sound of it,” Mike mused as he scrambled eggs. 

Ginny rolled her eyes. “You just like that a Lawson is winning awards again.”

“A Baker-Lawson.”

True, but she wasn't giving him points for that. Even if she still got a thrill every time she heard it.

“It’s not even a real award,” she pressed.

“Of course it’s real. It’s got its own Wikipedia page and everything.”

She huffed. “Fine. Then it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like it’s the Players Choice or Sporting News. It’s not even from the Baseball Writers, Mike.”

“As someone who’s won awards from all those groups,” he began, only pausing for his wife’s derisive snort, “I won’t tell you they don’t mean anything…”

“I’m sensing a ‘But.’“

Mike bit back a smart remark. There’d be time for that later. They were in the offseason, after all. He pulled the frying pan off the burner and spooned the eggs onto a warm plate. “But, they all mean roughly the same thing.“

She raised an eyebrow, waiting both for their breakfast and more explanation. 

Well, Mike was more than happy to oblige. On both fronts. Circling the island, he slid onto the empty stool beside her.

“They mean you had a good season and other people have noticed. Take the compliment, Gin. Don’t overthink it.”

“Overthinking is kinda what I do, Mike.”

“And distracting you from overthinking is what I do, right?”

She laughed, even as he scooped her up from her seat and had her mouth better occupied. 

Needless to say, their eggs went very, very cold.

 


	50. give a title, get a fic: Ginny's Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> theblackpearlofbraavos: "Ginny's Diary"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: send me a title, I'll tell you the fic I'd write for it; fic stub; pre-relationship; slightly edited

_Okay, Janet sends boxes of Ginny’s stuff out to San Diego and Ginny refuses to unpack them until Mike and/or Evelyn bullies her into it. Of course, Mike gets a little nosy as he helps her organize._

* * *

 

“Oh-ho! What have we here?”

“Not your fucking poster,” was on the tip of Ginny’s tongue—she already found it and hid it somewhere Mike would never look—but before she spat it out, she’d lifted her gaze to pin him with a withering stare. Except as soon as she did, the words died in her throat. 

Cradled in Mike’s large hands was something Ginny’d almost forgotten existed: her high school diary.

He had the good manners not to immediately page through it, but judging by the shit-eating grin on his face, Ginny wasn’t sure he could contain himself much longer. 

“Mike,” she warned, not quite a growl.

“Ginny,” he sing-songed back, thumbing across the edges of the soft, worn pages.

“Hand it over.” She ignored the way he said her name, easy and familiar, instead imperiously holding out her hand and waiting for him to comply. If he didn’t, she was reasonably sure she could take him. His knees had to be pretty stiff from sitting on the floor so long. 

And, okay. Now was not the time to get caught up in wondering how their bodies would fit together if she did have to tackle him. If Mike would put up a fight, roll her under his bulk, pin her wrists in one—

Luckily, for her sanity if nothing else, Ginny didn’t have to resort to violence. With a raised eyebrow, and the trace of a pout, he settled the diary in her hand. Before he could think about snatching it back, Ginny was up and squirreling the book away in her room. That was the one area of her apartment he'd given a wide berth, having poked around her kitchen cabinets and pawed through her collection of movies within fifteen minutes of showing up at her door. She’d definitely notice if Mike disappeared to look for it.

When she returned, he grinned lazily up at her. “Something you don’t want me to read in there, Baker?”

“Something I don’t want  _anyone_  to read,” she returned primly. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be embarrassed if someone read all your teenage thoughts.”

“I’ve never been embarrassing,” he said, turning back to his box of trophies and memorabilia. 

Ginny leaped at the opportunity to change the subject and gratefully steered the conversation away from anything she may or may not have written in her diary under the influence of post-puberty hormones. It wasn’t until much later, after Mike had helped her sort through most of her childhood possessions, washed the dishes from their Thai takeout, and gone home that Ginny let herself flip through the familiar pages. In short order, she landed on the entry that would’ve made her want to die of mortification if Mike ever read it.

> _Dear Diary,_
> 
> _Some day, I’m gonna make it to the majors, and when I do, the one person I want to meet is Mike Lawson. Dad says he’d be a good guy to know, he’s such a good catcher. That’s true but… Ugh! Is it wrong to say I’d rather kiss him than pitch to him? I bet he’d be good at it. Really good. Even if he is growing in that beard now._
> 
> _Maybe I’ll get the chance to find out one day. A girl can dream, right?_

A girl could dream. Ginny knew that for sure. And, well. Most of her other dreams had come true. Who was to say that this wouldn’t too?


	51. give a title, get a fic: give me a sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: "give me a sign" for the fic title thing? it's a the vaccines song lyric btw for inspo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you the fic I'd write for it; pre-relationship; mike's hands are nice, okay?; slightly edited

_Obviously some team has stolen the Padres’ signs, so pitchers and catchers have to come up with new ones. He’s tracked down the entire pitching staff. Well, the entire pitching staff minus Ginny, who’s suddenly become a ghost. It’d be easier to deal with if he knew why, exactly, she’s avoiding him. Mike’s got a hunch, and he’s not going to stop until he knows for sure_. 

* * *

Mike was aware that conspiring to corner a woman who had made it pretty clear she didn’t want to talk to him was sketchy at best and horrifying at worst. To be fair, he didn’t feel good about following Ginny into the cardio suite. That didn't change the fact that he really did need to talk to her. 

Just so they can go over the new signs. Not because he practically ached with the knowledge that it’d been a full five days since they’d exchanged more than three words. 

The way Ginny’s shoulders crept towards her ears when she noticed his entrance certainly didn’t make him feel any better. Still, they needed to go over the new call signs before her start tomorrow. 

So, as breezily as he could and ignoring the fear that’d settled into his gut sometime on day two, Mike slung himself into the recumbent bike next to Ginny’s and stuck his hand in her face. Wiggling all five fingers, he announced, “This is for when I want you to throw a slurve.”

“I don’t throw a slurve.”

“Which is why I thought we’d get it out of the way right off the bat.”

Ginny sighed, her gaze darting back to the monitor of her bike. “Old man, I don’t—”

“This,” he barreled on, showing her the Boy Scout Salute, “is for a screwgie. You’re gonna see it a lot. Memorize it.” 

“Lawson—”

Two fingers, now, scissoring through the air. “Change up.”

“Mike!” Ginny stopped pedaling, one hand cutting between them to close Mike’s fingers in her grip. It would’ve been more than enough to halt him in his tracks, except it was accompanied by both her outburst and a violent flush flooding from her cheeks, down her neck, and disappearing beneath the tight fabric of her undershirt. He raised an eyebrow and waited her out. 

Her blush only darkened, but Ginny didn’t tear her wide eyes from his. “Do we have to talk about this here?”

She squeezed his fingers, and if that was all she squeezed, Mike wouldn’t have thought twice about the question. He might’ve even agreed to table the discussion for a while. Except. Her thighs shifted together, muscle rippling under a layer of skin-tight lycra. As if she was seeking something. Heat. Friction.

Reflected in the dark mirror of Ginny’s pupil, Mike couldn’t miss the dumbstruck look on his face. She wanted his—  _There_ —? Swallowing, he managed to close his mouth and rearrange his face into something approaching neutral. Ginny followed suit, but she couldn’t quite hide away all her anxiety.

Good thing Mike intended to do something about that.

“Where do you want to talk about it, then? Over dinner?”

Ginny’s gaze sharpened, most of the mortification leeching away in favor of shrewd scrutiny. For a long moment, her attention dropped to their hands, still connected by her grip on his fingers. Mike resisted the urge to wiggle them again. When she lifted her gaze back to his, she gave him a shyer smile than he’d ever seen from her.

“Dinner might be a good start,” she allowed, hesitant. 

Letting loose the exuberant grin he’d kept in check since realizing what all this was about, Mike took the opportunity to twine his fingers through Ginny’s. Her smile brightened, sparking a flurry of excitement in his chest. He wasn’t above getting a little giddy over a smile and the chance to hold hands with the girl he liked. 

“Oh, Baker,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze of his own, “dinner will be just the start.”

 


	52. give a title, get a fic: fool me once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: “Fool me once,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you the fic I'd write for it; Blip knows, and he hates it; slightly edited

_Blip knows too much and is too wise to ask questions he doesn’t want the answers to_. _That’s especially true when it comes to Ginny and Mike and this weird dance they’ve entangled themselves in. Which is why he curses himself for not seeing this coming._

* * *

Blip Sanders only lets Mike get away with lying to him once. And only because he doesn’t realize he's lying. 

Every other time he’s tried it—more times than Blip can count, and about everything and anything; from the little things like stealing Blip’s tape or Gatorade to the big ones like getting back together with Rachel—Blip has sensed it coming from a mile a way. Raising two sons and being married to a woman who enjoys shopping a little more than she should, Blip’s got a sixth sense for when someone’s trying to keep him in the dark.

And yet, this latest development completely blindsides him. 

Honestly, he wishes he actually were blind. If only so he wouldn’t have witnessed whatever the hell it was he just walked in on. 

Not that Blip’s actually sure _what_ it was he walked in on. He does know that Mike and Ginny sprang apart too fast for it to have been entirely innocent. Ginny’s hair is in a tangle down her back, the skin around her mouth red. Like it’s just been rubbed raw by something rough. 

Which probably explains why Mike’s beard doesn’t lay as neat and tidy as usual.

Blip really doesn't want an explanation for the reason why the Mike's shirt is half-untucked.

Ginny’s smart enough to make a quick escape, patting his shoulder as she passes by. Mike moves to follow her, to finish God only knows what they started, but Blip’s not going to let that happen.

“You told me you weren’t going to do anything,” he hisses, grip tight on Mike’s bicep, “to endanger Ginny’s career.” 

There’s no question that his captain could walk away any time he chose. It’s a gesture of his respect for Blip that he doesn’t. 

“I wasn’t going to.” Blip scoffs, unimpressed, so Mike insists, “I wasn’t! You think I want to put her career— _her_ —in jeopardy?”

“Then you don’t put her in a position like this.”

“I don’t put Ginny in any position she doesn’t want to be in.”

Blip rears away, dropping Mike’s arm with a gag. “Don’t be disgusting! That girl is like my sister.” Mike grins and shrugs, making Blip glare. It doesn’t have much of an effect, but at least his next words do. “And if you ever do anything to hurt her, Mike, I’ll make sure you remember that.”

“I’m not gonna hurt her Blip. I swear.”

Even though he was still reeling from the realization that Mike was, in fact, capable of sneaking a lie past his defenses, Blip actually had no problem believing that. 

 


	53. give a title, get a fic: Warm hands, cold heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: "Warm hands, cold heart"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; pre-relationship; desperate flirting; slightly edited

_Oh, that could get a little dark. And I love dark, but I’m not good at writing it. So, hm. Let’s see: Friendly as Ginny is with her teammates and opponents, she garners a reputation for herself as a frigid prude. Which doesn’t bother her; if fewer ballplayers are worrying about getting into her pants, that’s a good thing. Until it seems like Mike might believe all the talk, too._

* * *

Ginny’s pulse thrummed beneath her skin. Even over the pounding bass that spilled through the club, she could hear the beat of her heart, echoing through her chest and into her ears. 

She wanted to say it was just an after effect of her exertion on the dance floor, but—

Well, Mike was dragging her into a dark, seldom used hallway at the back of the club, and Ginny may not have gone to college, but she wasn’t stupid. She might not know why he wanted to get her alone, but she could imagine. And boy, did she imagine. Just absolutely let her imagination run wild as she did her best to keep up with the punishing pace Mike had set.

Oh, the way he’d stalked up to her, eyes dark and jaw clenched, it was a miracle she hadn’t imploded right then and there. 

She still might. Especially since that dangerous look hadn’t gone anywhere. Ginny got another look at it as Mike spun her around to face him, her shoulders landing flat against the cinderblock wall. Her captain loomed over her, one hand braced next to her head, buff arm practically vibrating with contained tension.

“What," he growled, close enough that the vibration of his chest rumbled straight through her, "are you doing, Baker?”

“What’d it look like, Lawson? I was dancing.”

He shook his head. “I’ve seen you dance, and it never looked like that.”

Ginny licked her lips and thrilled in the way Mike’s gaze followed the movement, the way she hoped he’d been following hers all night. It was that thrill that pushed her to ask, “But you liked what you saw, right?”

He rolled his eyes, and the fact that it  _worked_  so well for Ginny probably explained why she’d been feeling so desperate lately. The day Mike Lawson stopped rolling his eyes was the day Ginny gave up on him. 

“I always like what I see,” he said, like that wasn’t enough to make her stomach clench and heart race, “but that doesn’t mean I need to see it.”

Ginny shifted on her feet. If it sent her hips bumping against Mike’s thigh, she’d just blame it on leftover energy from the dance floor. She bit her lip and peered up at him through her eyelashes, wishing the shadows in the hall left his reactions less of a mystery. Mike's dark eyes stared back. “So you don’t think I’m an ice queen?”

He laughed. The asshole actually laughed at her!

Before she could slip out of his hold and run as far as her legs could take her, he slumped forward, cheek brushing against her temple and dying chuckles hitting her ear. Mike nuzzled against her for just a moment, breathing her in, and Ginny struggled not to melt.

“Ginny,” he breathed, leaning in so his lips could brush against the shell of her ear and send shivers skittering down her spine, “you are, beyond a doubt, the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her breath caught in her throat, every inch of her skin going taut and tingly. Mike probably knew it. too. It would be so easy to turn her face, capture his mouth with hers and make him do something about the way he made her feel. 

So she did. 

Almost before she pulled away, Ginny found herself being dragged through the crowded club for the second time of the night. This time, though, she knew this trip wouldn’t end until they found somewhere much more private than a dark hallway.

 


	54. give a title, get a fic: Please don’t pull me out, this is how I would want to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: "Please don’t pull me out, this is how I would want to go"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; pre-relationship; Mike's last game; slightly edited

_I can’t decide who gets injured. It’s clearly Mike’s last game, but who is fighting to stay in the game? Let’s see…_

* * *

She started scowling when he was just five feet away from the plate. Mike didn’t let it stop him, but he did wish that she had a more welcoming look for him on what might be the last mound visit of his career. What, if he had his way, would be his last visit to her.

“What’s with the face, Baker?” he called, still ten feet away. Her lips pursed, but she didn’t answer until he’d climbed the mound himself.

From over the top of her glove, she pinned him with an exasperated glare. “There’s nothing wrong with my face, Lawson.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

She blinked, rocking back onto her heels. Her eyes darted to the roaring crowd surrounding them, flicked up to the jumbotron, though the control room hadn’t yet blown him and Ginny up for the entire stadium to see. Mike kept his eyes firmly on her. 

“Mike,” she started, finally giving him her attention again but looking more than a little lost.

That was fair, even if it felt like a punch to the gut. They didn't even hint at feelings that were more than friendly when they were on the field. Forgive Mike for getting a little impatient, though.

“It’s my last game, Gin. If we’re not talking about this now, when will we?”

“When we’re not in the middle of a game!”

“We’re not,” he returned, getting back to the reason for this visit. “You’re done in.”

Any shyness or affection that’d crept into her gaze dried up at that. Ginny’s jaw set. “No.”

“No? You walked the last two batters and gave up a homer an inning ago.”

“I’ve worked my way out of worse.”

True. When Ginny put her mind to it, she could paint more than corners. She could give Van Gogh a run for his money.

Sensing a chink in his armor, she pressed her case. “Don’t tell me this isn’t how you want it to end. Me on the mound, you behind the plate. It’s how it should be, Mike.”

“It won’t be like that after today,” he said, gentler than he ever was with a pitcher. Then again, Ginny wasn’t just any pitcher.

“Which is why you can’t take me out, now. I’m in this until the end, Lawson.”

They locked eyes for a long moment. It was a miracle neither Al nor the crew chief came out to tell them to knock it off. But maybe they recognized this wasn’t any other mound visit. Finally, Mike heaved a sigh and put the ball back in her glove. “Don’t make me regret this,” he warned, backing away.

Face unscreened, Ginny’s responding smile was breathtaking. Lit up from the inside out, she promised, “You won’t.”

He didn’t doubt it. There was no way he’d ever regret having more Ginny Baker in his life. On the field or off it.

 


	55. give a title, get a fic: There is no falling in love, only being

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: "There is no falling in love, only being,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; one section of a 5+1 fic; Eliot POV; post-105; slightly edited

_This would probably be something unapologetically mushy, with lots of inner monologues and musings about when they fell in love. Actually, no. Scratch that. It’d be a however many + 1 of other people realizing Mike and Ginny are in love that proves they’ve basically always loved each other._

* * *

It was true that Eliot didn’t always excel at the whole “interpersonal relationships” schtick. At least in real life. There was a reason, after all, he’d left behind LA and what could’ve been a promising career in the entertainment industry to run the social media accounts of AA baseball player who mostly made headlines for what was—or, more accurately, wasn’t—in her pants. 

Still, even he had to realize at some point that something was going on with Ginny and Mike Lawson. There were too many lingering looks and charged moments for it to fly under the radar. Even Eliot's sometimes dysfunctional radar.

It was never more obvious than when they weren’t speaking.

Well. One of them wasn’t speaking. The other couldn’t quite stop. 

Eliot hovered in the corner of Ginny’s changing room, wondering if it was too late to make a quick exit. Probably. Slim as he was, especially compared to some of the Padres, he doubted he could fit himself into the scant gap between the doorjamb and Mike Lawson’s bulk, stalwartly occupying the doorway. Maybe he could shut himself in her bathroom? Anything to get out of witnessing this one-sided conversation. God, why had he caved to a dimpled grin and a pleading look? Especially when he knew she was in a Mood™? 

He should’ve known Lawson would show up to go over batters, even if Ginny'd said she’d rather review Eliot’s compiled stats. Not that either of them seemed to remember Eliot and his personally calculated sabermetrics were still in the room.

Eliot liked to think that if he did, Mike Lawson would be at least a little less contemptuous of the entire idea.

“You know,” Mike was saying, showing no signs of slowing down in spite of the way he’d already filled the awkward silence for a solid five minutes, “that those statistical models HAL spits out are bullshit at least half the time. Experience is what really matters.”

“And no one’s more experienced than you, right?” she sniped, and something in her tone telling Eliot she meant more than just on-field experience. Oh, he'd just known the whole Amelia and Mike thing was going to bite them all in the ass. Still, Ginny didn’t give into the urge to play dirty. “Tell me, what was it like playing against Gehrig and Ruth?”

“An honor and a privilege,” he shot back without missing a beat.

Her lips twitched in spite of herself. Eliot was a little awed. The only time he’d ever seen anyone cajole Ginny out of a mood like that, it’d involved two of Evelyn Sanders’ strawberry rhubarb pies and a tickle attack from her twins. Still, Ginny schooled her expression before rewarding her captain with a cool gaze. 

Anyone else would have been cowed by the frank disapproval in that look, but Mike Lawson seemed to blossom. He stood up straighter, his crossed arms falling to his sides. Ginny’s cold shoulder had only lasted a week and a half at most, but watching it thaw like this, it was all too easy to see the toll it had taken on the two of them. Mike’s shoulders loosened and Ginny’s knee stopped its agitated jittering. 

“So,” Mike said, like they’d already set aside the fact that they were each a little pissed at the other and had been for a while, “can we run through hitters now?”

Miraculously, she agreed. “Fine. But I want to go over Eliot’s stats, too.”

Somehow, she broke away from the intense staring contest she’d been embroiled in to turn her attention to the corner of the room Eliot occupied. It wasn’t until Mike followed suit that Eliot realized it wasn’t the corner they were looking at, but him.

“Um. I’ll, uh, send it to you?” he said, flapping his phone like it could cut through whatever the hell was going on between them as he inched towards the door. Just a few more steps to freedom. “I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out.”

Ginny frowned faintly, but didn’t protest. Mike, Eliot had a feeling, wouldn’t stop frowning until he once again had a monopoly on Ginny’s attention. Well, Eliot was more than happy to make that happen.

Booking it away from the closet, he let out a sigh of relief just as Ginny’s low, musical laugh drifted out into the hall, quickly joined by her captain’s rumble. Eliot shook his head and kept walking, aiming for anywhere that wasn’t there. How did they deal with all that— _T_ _hat_? Every day? Just a few minutes in its presence, and Eliot wanted to lay down and sleep for a month.

No wonder Ginny’d been so upset in the wake of the Mike and Amelia news. 

Only…

Not that Eliot was any expert on interpersonal relationships, but Ginny didn’t really act like someone who was upset the guy she liked was dating her friend. Agent. Whatever. If Mike knew he was interested in Ginny—which he was; Eliot was pretty sure about that—and she knew she was interested in him—

Unless. 

Unless they  _didn’t_  know. Or they were so deep in denial, they’d completely suppressed the fact that they did know. Or something.

God, this was confusing.

Shaking himself, Eliot knew it was time for a little sustenance. He navigated his way out of the clubhouse and went in search of some of that sweet ballpark chow. 

Once he had his daily serving of ice cream, complete with tiny plastic Padres helmet, he was feeling much more philosophical about it all. Eliot might be slow on the uptake sometimes, but there were at least two people in the world who were slower. That had to count as a win, right?

Well, at the very least he had ice cream.

 

 


	56. give a title, get a fic: House Hunters: Celebrity Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> theblackpearlofbraavos: House Hunters: Celebrity Edition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; post-season 1; pre-relationship; slightly edited

_I’m almost always #TeamGetGinnyOutoftheHotel_ , _so why not combine that with my love of HGTV? Because there is no reason, obviously._

* * *

For approximately the millionth time, Ginny told herself:  _This is the bargain you made. You chose this._

The fact that it was true didn’t make it any easier to accept. Nonetheless, Ginny needed Amelia more than she didn’t want to put herself in the spotlight. So, in exchange for coming back to work—albeit with stricter boundaries between the personal and the professional—Ginny’d agreed to do one of Amelia’s offseason PR stunts.

Not for the first time, she wished she’d played hardball and gotten out of it entirely. Because the last thing Ginny really needed or wanted was to be on TV more than was contractually obligated. And yet, here she was, filming for  _House Hunters_.

After today, at least, the whole ordeal would be over. 

If only her house hunting partner would show up so they could get moving. God, he was such a diva. Always had to make an entrance.

Why Ginny even needed a house hunting partner—it wasn’t like she’d be sharing the house with anyone in the even remotely near future—she didn’t quite know, but she also hadn't wanted to draw this process any longer out by getting into it with the producers. 

Even if, once she found out who they’d picked as her shopping buddy, she seriously considered earning herself a reputation as a diva.

Before she could work herself into a real temper, a familiar voice rang through the house she’d actually closed on two weeks ago. Nothing like a stint on reality TV to learn just how fake it all was.

“So, this is where the great Ginny Baker’s going to live, huh?”

Ginny looked up from the corner she’d confined herself to as the crew set up their lights and the video village in preparation for the filming ahead. She gave Mike Lawson a sour look as he strode up to her, taking off his sunglasses as he came and giving her cozy, little house a once over. 

“I mean, it’s no glass spaceship, but I like it.”

“Don’t knock my house, Baker.”

“It’s a fishbowl, not a house, Lawson.”

Ginny could maybe, almost, sort of see why it would be more interesting to watch two people look for a house than just one. More opportunity for banter or something. If there was anything Ginny and Mike excelled at, aside from baseball, it was banter. 

“Well, I’ll be sure to get your input the next time I buy a home,” he groused, though the twitch of his beard hinted at a grin hidden beneath all that hair. 

“The next home you move into will be the old folks' home,” she muttered, ignoring his shocked guffaw in favor of turning her attention to the approaching EP, who asked if they were ready to start filming. Placidly, Ginny agreed, leaving her still astounded captain with nothing more than a mischievous grin. 

If she absolutely had to be on this show, well. She might as well have some fun with it.

 


	57. give a title, get a fic: It was a dark and stormy night…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dortheyjac: "It was a dark and stormy night..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; hand holding; slash I lied, there's no kangaroo court

_I’m thinking more kangaroo court? Plus some power outages because why not?_

* * *

Even in the bowels of Wrigley, the echoing boom of thunder is hard to miss. It feels like it shakes the stadium to its very foundation, rolling on and on as the storm outside shows no sign of abating. 

Frankly, Ginny’s surprised flakes of plaster dust don’t shake loose from the ceiling. Theoretically, the visitor’s clubhouse is in line for some improvements, but she’ll believe it when she sees it. It's certainly due for them. The fact that the back up generators bypass this section of the stadium is yet another reason why rain delays at Wrigley are the worst. It’s bad enough that when the carpet gets wet, as it surely does with 25+ pairs of damp feet walking all over it, the place smells faintly of mildew, but when the power goes out, too, it’s almost unbearable. 

Apparently it’s true what they say about the loss of one sense. It just makes the others stronger. 

Which is probably why she can’t tune out the spooky stories some of her teammates have started to tell, the bluish flashlights on their phones held under chins to throw their faces into ghoulish, shadowy relief and proving most of them are still functionally twelve-year-old boys. It’s not enough light to see by, so Ginny tries to content herself with mentally running through the Cubs lineup she’ll face if play ever resumes. 

God, she wishes her phone hadn’t died. If it hadn’t, she wouldn’t be forced to listen to Dusty’s tale of escaped lunatics and teenagers gone parking. 

In spite of herself, she gulps.

“Scared, Baker?” comes a whisper, much closer to her ear than she’d expected.

Shoving down the urge to shiver, she elbows him, drawing a soft  _oof_  when she finds the ribs. “Just trying not to breathe through my nose,” she answers, which is true enough.

Mike’s dubious hum says more than enough about how much he believes her. Ginny’d press her case, but a better opportunity presents itself.

Overhead, another clap of thunder booms. The layers of concrete and steel struts might as well have disappeared, it sounds so close. Except if there were no concrete and steel, the whole building wouldn’t shudder so ominously. 

In and of itself, it’s nothing, just par for the course in a Midwest summer storm. Except. Mike twitches. Jumps almost, his bulk rocking into Ginny and staying there until the last of the reverb has faded away.

“You good there, captain? Need me to protect you from a little thunder?” she taunts, just imagining the eye roll it must earn.

He eases away from her, but even as he goes, Ginny can tell that the tension that coils through him stays put. She frowns and, before she can convince herself it’s none of her business, reaches out blindly until she’s got a grip on Mike’s arm. 

“Baker—” he starts to protest, although the second her fingers twine with his, he stops. The dark air between them goes taut, as charged as the storm clouds far, far above their heads. The feedback to this static isn’t a clap of thunder, but Mike resettling her grip, bringing his palm flush against hers.

“Don’t worry, old man,” she whispers, letting her head drop to his shoulder, thumb caressing over his. “I’ll keep your secret.”

“You better,” he mutters back, fingers tightening on hers as another roll of thunder fills up the Chicago sky. 

Truthfully, though, Ginny’s got no interest in telling anyone about this, not even if dirt on Mike is hard to come by and worth its weight in Gatorade around the clubhouse. She intends to keep this moment, her first chance to hold Mike’s hand and pretend they’re something more, all to herself.

 


	58. give a title, get a fic: My MVP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ms-meeseeks: "My MVP"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; future fic;

_Mike gets grumpy about the newest crop of MVPs. Ginny’s got a sneaking suspicion that it’s less about who won than who didn’t._

* * *

“Do you even care about these awards, man? I’ve never seen a single trophy in that house of yours.”

“Because I don’t,” he muttered, less than believable. There was definitely some pouting action as he said it. 

Blip didn’t roll his eyes, but it was only his experience as a dad that let him keep a straight face. Ginny, on the other hand, had no such defenses. From the couch just a few feet away, she snorted.

Even with her gaze trained on the TV and the video game—which she was dominating, thank you very much—before her, she knew her outburst didn’t go unnoticed.

“Got something to say, rookie?”

“Only all the time,” Blip muttered under his breath. 

Ginny threw him a glare if only because she didn’t have anything else handy. Like hell she was gonna give up her controller and give Gabe or Marcus a chance at beating her. She was the undisputed Mario Kart Champion in the Sanders house. She had a reputation to uphold. 

Still, she shrugged, studiously avoiding the gaze of her surely grumpy captain. 

“Shouldn’t you be proud it was one of your teammates that won it?”

“Anyone else and I would be,” Mike said, rolling his eyes.

Ginny had to wait to cross the finish line before she could whirl on him, but it wasn't a long wait. Accompanied by the groans of two nearly-nine-year-olds, she twisted around to level Mike Lawson with an exasperated glare.

“You’re basically his mentor,” she said, though it was unlikely Mike—or Livan, the now reigning NL MVP, for that matter—would appreciate the phrasing. Sure enough, Mike’s nose crinkled in displeasure. “He’s gonna be your legacy.”

Blip’s eyebrows climbed his forehead, but before Ginny could demand an explanation for that reaction, he excused himself, herding away the twins as he went. Frowning, she watched them go for only a second before turning her attention back to Mike. 

He frowned back. “Livan’s not my legacy. He might take over my job, and might not even do half-bad if he’d get his head out of his ass and listen to some advice once in a while,” he said, with a rueful shake of his head, ”but that won’t make him my legacy.”

“Of course,” she drawled, propping an elbow on the back of couch so she could rest her chin on her upturned hand. “Then which one of us mere mortals could ever—”

“You.”

Her breath caught in her throat, stopping anything else she’d planned on saying. Honestly, Ginny wasn’t even sure she could remember what she’d wanted to say, not in the face of Mike’s steady gaze and confident tone. He softened, just a touch, at her surprise. 

“C’mon, Gin,” he murmured, leaning across the space to shrink their world down even more. Not that Ginny was currently aware of anything outside of Mike, his shy smile, or the thrum of her heart. “Of course it’s gonna be you.”

“Oh,” Ginny said, too struck for anything else. Until: “I want to kiss you.”

The words hit the open air before she could stop them. Before she could tell herself it wasn’t an appropriate—wasn’t within spitting distance of appropriate—response. Even if she couldn’t imagine responding any other way to what was hands down the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her. 

After a long, heart-stopping moment, Mike’s smile broadened. He looked from side to side and lifted his empty hands in a half shrug. “Don’t see anything stopping you.”

And there wasn’t, was there? Nothing that mattered in the long run, anyway. So, Ginny vaulted herself over the back of the Sanderses’ couch and made herself right at home in Mike’s lap. 

“You can be my MVP,” she breathed, needing to offer him something to mirror his earlier promise. 

It wasn’t shaking hands to seal a deal, but the way Mike pressed his mouth against hers was a hell of a lot more enjoyable. It probably even meant the same thing. He’d take the job, and gladly.

Just as he long as he realized it was a lifetime position, Ginny was more than happy to let him have it.

 


	59. give a title, get a fic: Legends never die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: "Legends never die,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; future fic; pre-relationship; slightly edited

_Mike and Ginny have differing opinions on what makes “one of the greats.”_

* * *

“Just you watch, Baker. Before this is all said and done, Ken Burns’ll be knocking on your door.”

It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d thought it, but judging by the way Ginny recoiled, a furrow crinkling her brow, it must’ve been the first time he actually said it aloud. Certainly the first time he said it to her.

She only gave him a bare second of her attention before snorting and turning back to her drink and pile of peanut shells.

For someone who’d just recorded her sixth straight win, Ginny Baker sure knew how to celebrate. One beer and a handful of bar snacks. Her teammates, meanwhile, had no problem reveling in the win. Yeah, they’d contributed to the shutout victory over the number one Dodgers, but most of the glory rested firmly on the shoulders of one Padre in particular. And, no, it wasn’t Mike himself. 

Credit where credit was due: Ginny’d earned her win. Now if only she could act like it.

Shaking her head, she replied, “Get real, Lawson.”

“You get real,” he sputtered. For all it was a pretty weak comeback, Mike wasn’t about to let Ginny get down on herself when she should be celebrating her first full game of the season. No doubt about it, she was back and better than ever.

As she had so often lately, she rolled her eyes. Maybe she’d spent too much time with him, picked up some of his bad habits. Only, Mike couldn’t fathom such a thing as spending too much time with Ginny Baker. 

“I am,” she sighed, propping an elbow on the bar so she could turn and face him. “I’ve got a middling ERA, the lowest strikeout average of any starter in the division, and my OOPs is nothing to write home about. The only thing Ken Burns’ll ever ask me about is how I ever managed to put up with you.”

The idea of a Mike Lawson segment of  _Ken Burns’ Baseball_  certainly appealed to his vanity, and he had no problem letting her know. Waggling his eyebrows, he asked, “You really think I’ll make the cut?”

She stared at him, caught red handed, for just a moment. Her lips twitched to the side as she clearly considered what lie to feed him. Mike was sure it’d be good.

“I mean— Yeah,” she finally said, twitching her nose and dropping her gaze to the top of the bar. “Anything to keep you from showing up at his door, whining about being left out.”

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” Mike drawled, making Ginny swallow hard. “Well, I’ll tell Ken that the only way I do his flick is if he puts you in, too. Equal screen time.”

A dimple flickered to life in her cheek. From the corner of her eye, she studied him. Mike looked back until she shook her head with a real grin. “You sure your ego can take sharing the spotlight?”

 _With you it would,_ he wanted to say, but as long as they weren’t talking about this, could only talk around it, he’d keep it inside. For now, he responded, sounding far more rueful than he was, “I guess I’ll just have to live with it, won’t I?”

 


	60. give a title, get a fic: How to be a competitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: How to be a competitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; teasing; pre-relationship; slightly edited

_I need more of Mike and Ginny getting disgustingly competitive with each other and discovering that it’s a real problem. Because things get heated. In more than one sense._

* * *

Walking into the unassuming sports bar in the Gaslamp District, Ginny’s already feeling pretty pleased with her choice of occupation tonight. It’s a rare night off at home, and it’s nice to remember that sometimes she can do exactly what she wants, and she can do it where and with whom she wants it. 

If the where happens to be the same bar so many of her teammates have descended upon to prove they know more useless facts than one another and the whom are one teammate’s wife and another’s ex—even if both would probably object to the label—that’s entirely immaterial. 

And so what if she was already told that this is a “Boys Night,” so, no, she’s not invited? Mike and Blip aren’t in charge of her. 

To reiterate: Ginny Baker can do exactly what she wants. For tonight at least. 

Amelia rolls her eyes the second she figures out what’s going on, which, to be fair only takes her about five. Still, she eases herself onto a stool at one of the high tops and resigns herself to her fate. Evelyn, on the other hand, arches a knowing brow, a shark’s grin spreading across her face. It only grows when her husband catches sight of her. 

His confusion earns the attention of Mike, Butch, and Sonny. Ginny’d be surprised if it didn’t. They are all sitting at the same table. 

Excusing herself from her friends—the ones who hadn’t recently told her she couldn’t come out with them—Ginny saunters over to her teammates. It’s a small bar, it doesn’t take long, but she makes sure to draw out the journey.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she drawls, crossing her arms over her chest with an innocent grin.

Mike cuts through the bullshit, demanding “What’re you doing here, Baker?” with a suspicious squint.

“We’re here to play trivia.”

“We’re here to win trivia,” Evelyn corrects, like she’s been on board with this plan since Ginny first came up with it rather than the two minutes she's know about it. And effectively proving just how quiet the bar’s gotten since they walked in.

“That too,” she acknowledges. 

Mike rolls his eyes. Butch and Sonny slink off for more beer, and Blip excuses himself to greet his wife. Ginny hardly even notices. Her attention is trained on her grumpy captain. 

Who is currently mirroring her position by crossing his flannel covered arms over his chest. He leans back in his chair and studies her. 

“Woulda thought you had more than enough of us. Yet here you are on your night off.”

Ginny shrugs, looking away. Put like that, her exclusion from “Boys Night” stings a little less. Still, her point stands. 

“Of course, there’s no way you’re here just because we told you not to come,” he ponders aloud, unfolding his arms to drape them over the back of the empty chairs beside him. She shrugs again, grinning this time. If her eyes also trace the tug of his shirt across his chest, well. Ginny’s only human. The cocky smirk that takes over his face shouldn’t work so well for her, but damn it, it really, really does. “Because you’d never do anything just to prove a point, right?”

“You know me so well, cap.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Just try not to show the rest of these mooks up too much. I don’t want to hear them whining about it for the next three weeks.”

“The rest of them? You think I’m not gonna wipe the floor with you, too?” 

“You’re welcome to try, Baker.”

Planting her hands on the table, Ginny leans across the space to get in his face. This time, she’s not the one being distracted by a chest. Mike’s eyes flick back to hers after a long moment trained on the shadow down the front of her shirt, but his jaw is still a little loose. Damn it, that works even better for her. 

Fighting back a smirk, she promises, “I’ll do much better than try, Lawson. And if you’re a good sport about it, I might even cheer you up once you lose.”

Ginny’s not sure she means for the words to come out so husky and low, almost like a caress, but she can’t argue with its results. 

Mike’s eyebrow jumps up, a dangerous grin curling over his lips. “You know,” he says as he leans in himself, close enough that she can almost feel the warmth of his breath ghost against her skin, “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“Oh, old man,” she says, already backing away to her table and a safer distance, “you better.”

 


	61. give a title, get a fic: Gonna wear that dress you like, skin tight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: "Gonna wear that dress you like, skin tight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; flirting; slightly edited

_The fact that we didn’t get more shots of Mike reacting to Ginny in nice clothes is one of the many tragedies of Pitch. It would’ve never gotten old._

* * *

Mike has never considered himself particularly opinionated when it comes to fashion. He wears a uniform at least eight months out of the year and flannels and jeans for the rest of it. It'd be pretty hypocritical if he started judging what other people wear.

He doesn’t even really care that much about women’s clothes. Of course, he’s not against outfits that bare a little skin, but it’s not like he hasn’t seen it all before. As long as they look confident, he’s into it. What can he say? He’s more into the women than what they’re wearing.

With Ginny, though, he’s turned a corner. 

Obviously, he hasn’t stopped appreciating Ginny—her mind, her skill, sense of humor—but he’s spent so much time with her, learned her inside out, he’s gone full circle on her. He’s back to the point where Ginny’s choice in leggings or one of her rare sundresses are enough to make him lose his train of thought.

At this point, there isn’t a thing he’s seen her in that hasn’t made him think some extremely un-captain-ly thoughts.

It’s becoming a problem. 

Not only because the sight of Ginny in her uniform really shouldn’t make him think more about how quickly he can get her out of it than the game they’re usually supposed to be playing, but also because he and Ginny still haven’t talked about whether he’s even allowed to have those thoughts. His knees are still going strong. Well, strong enough to carry him through this season and hopefully the next. Which means he’s got at least a year before he can broach the subject.

Which is fine. It’s fine! Really. 

Even if Ginny seems hellbent on getting him to break much, much sooner.

Between all the looks she’s been sending him, the lingering touches, and, yes, her revamped wardrobe, Mike hopes that’s what she’s angling for. If it's not, she's got a cruel streak he never saw coming.

He’ll still make her tell him exactly what she wants, needs to hear it from her own mouth, but until she does, he’s gonna bite his tongue. 

If he doesn’t swallow it first.

He’d certainly wanted to when she showed up to post-game drinks wearing  _that._

Between the swaths of smooth, dark skin on display and the clinging fabric of her short dress, it’s better if Mike keeps his distance. As long as he wants to wait for Ginny to make the first move, at least. If she wants to make it, though, he definitelywon’t complain.

Which is why he doesn’t dodge away from her when she comes up to lean against the bar next to him. Her long legs stretch out before her, but Mike keeps his eyes firmly above her shoulders. There's more than enough to hold his attention there; pink, smirking lips and eyes outlined in hazy charcoal.

“Quite the outfit you’ve got there,” he observes in spite of himself, wetting his lips with a gulp of whiskey.

“I thought you’d like it,” she says, her full bottom lip stuck out in what looks suspiciously like a pout. 

“I fucking hate it.”

Ginny laughs, sure he’s joking, but her mirth fades away when Mike’s frown doesn’t lighten. 

Her hand smoothes over the tight skirt, like wrinkles are what’s got Mike so annoyed and not the fact that it leaves so little to the imagination. Mike’s got an active imagination; he really doesn’t need the help. She bites her lip, confidence dropping away, which isn’t what Mike wants at all.

“You do?” she asks, staring uncertainly down at her folded hands.

Aw, shit. Mike slugs back the rest of his drink and throws all his intentions to wait for Ginny’s first move—maybe all the looks and touches and tight skirts have been a first move. He can believe that for the next ten seconds. Turning to face her, he lowers his voice and murmurs intently, “I hate that I can’t take it off you.”

In a flash, Ginny’s attention is back on him. Her eyes go wide and dark in the space of an instant, pupils taking over the golden brown. She sways into him, one slim hand creeping across the bar top to brush against his. 

“That a fact?” At Mike’s nod, she tips her head to the side, thinking. Mike just watches her, as awed as ever. God, she's beautiful. Especially when a decision sets her jaw, makes her eyes go sharp and intense on his. “You know," Ginny drawls, fingers dancing over the back of Mike's hand, "I’m not sure I can reach the zipper on this thing.”

“Oh?”

Ginny nods, looking up at him through the dark fringe of her eyelashes. “If I let you help, maybe you won’t have so much reason to hate it.”

“You let me help and I won’t have reason to hate anything,” he promises.

“Not even designated hitters?”

“Don’t push it, Gin.”

She laughs, and, oh, she’s so close Mike can almost taste her. If they weren’t in public, he’s sure that he would. 

Which is why it’s such a good thing that Ginny wastes no time in hustling him out of the bar and getting him somewhere much more private. It turns out she can reach the zipper just fine on her own, but she still lets him give her a hand. 

 


	62. give a title, get a fic: I don’t want to keep playing them games, ‘cause I feel like I’m losing you,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Title thing if you are still doing them! “I don’t want to keep playing them games, ‘cause I feel like I’m losing you,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; talking about it while not talking about it; Mike's got some baggage; slightly edited

_I’m all about the slow burn. I also get too impatient to write them, but I can’t see this title being for anything else. So here’s a bit of pre-resolution slow burn as a bit of a challenge for myself._

* * *

Just because they’re not talking about it, doesn’t mean Ginny can’t flirt with her captain. A little. 

Okay, fine. A lot. 

And, until recently, Mike has seemed on board with their holding pattern. He can banter with the best of them, and he’s always had a teasing, flirty response for her. It’s clear that he wants more, but, well. The feeling’s mutual. Ginny’d thought that was clear. 

She’s starting to think it actually might not be.

Mostly because Mike’s started to frown every time she sends him a wink across the clubhouse, to turn away whenever she tries to draw him into a teasing argument, to sigh and turn the conversation back to baseball any time she tries to flirt. 

It’s enough to make her consider stopping, give up on this crush the way she should've when she was first called up. If it weren’t for the way Mike still looks at her, if only when he thinks he’s unobserved, Ginny might. 

But whenever she manages to catch him at it, it lights her up from the inside out. Makes her feel electric, incandescent, bright enough to banish all of her darkest doubts. She can’t imagine giving up that feeling. She won’t. 

And she’s going to make that very clear to Mike. If he’d just let her get him alone for a second. 

The fact that it takes her three days to accomplish what would've been a matter of course just a few weeks ago just proves how slippery Mike can be when he puts his mind to it. 

He’s probably pretty slippery now, too, huddled in his ice bath as he is, but he’s also cornered until Ginny sees fit to give him a towel. Mike Lawson might love to show off, but only when it's on his terms. These are definitely not his terms.

He glares at her, so she glares back, arms crossed over her chest. 

“Seriously. What’s crawled up your ass lately?”

“Nothing. I just don’t wanna play these games with you anymore, Baker,” he says, jaw clenched almost as tight as his fists. It could be the ice, but she suspects it’s not. 

“What games, Mike?” she demands, pushing away the formality he’d imposed by using her last name. They’ve moved past that. She doesn’t want to hear it from him. “Baseball’s the only game I’m interested in playing.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

She advances on him, uncaring that she might get an eyeful around the melting ice. Ginny’s too mad to think about copping a sneak peek. The way he’s acting, she might never want a peek. 

No, that seems too drastic, but still. She certainly doesn't want one now.

“That sounds like a you problem,” she tells him, frowning down at her shivering catcher. “It sounds like you’ve got your head up your ass, tying yourself in knots over your own bullshit.”

His brow remains furrowed, but he doesn’t protest. 

“I haven’t changed my mind, Mike, but if you have, you need to tell me.”

“I didn’t know you’d made up your mind at all.”

Ginny shakes her head, refusing to give into the self-pity in his tone. “Don’t give me that. I made up my mind about you the second you did that stupid mic drop during my second game.”

Mike stares at her, jaw slack. It takes him a few tries to form words. When he manages it, all he can get out is a hoarse, “Really?”

“Really. And,” the words stick in her throat, but she forces them out, “if you haven’t made a decision yet, that’s f—”

“My mind’s made up,” he promises, looking her dead in the eye. “Has been since you smacked my ass.” 

Ginny can’t fight back the smile that spreads across her face or the way she can’t come up with anything to say in reply. Her lips part, but no sound escapes them. Mike takes pity on her. He lifts a brow and demands, “Now, that you're satisfied"—like he isn't just as relieved by this little interlude, his shoulders already un-hunched from around his ears, cocky grin back at home—"is a little privacy too much to ask?”

Ginny rolls her eyes, but acquiesces. Before she can leave the room, though, she tells him, “Appreciate it while you have it, old man.”

“I think I’ll look forward to losing it more,” he grins, almost as charming as usual. The shiver that wracks his frame definitely takes a toll on the overall effect. Ginny pushes down an offer to warm him up, and it’s easier now than it would have been yesterday or even fifteen minutes ago. Because now she's sure that one day, she won’t have to bite it back. One day, flirting won’t be all she does with Mike.

And, honestly? That day can’t come soon enough.

 


	63. give a title, get a fic: In love, I haven’t had enough practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: In love, I haven’t had enough practice,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; pre-relationship; slightly edited

_lbr on who this applies to. Or who’d feel the most self-conscious about it._

* * *

Ginny’d had better things to do with her time than worry about finding the One. At least, that was what her pops always told her whenever she brought up the idea of dating. It was true enough then, she couldn’t see why it should be different now.

Except, she was apparently the only one who believed that.

“Girl, you need to get back on the dating bus. It’s been too long. For all we know, it’s just cobwebs down—”

“Evelyn!” Ginny protested, clapping a hand over her friend’s mouth for good measure. She darted a glance around the crowded kitchen, though no one seemed to be paying the two of them any attention. Satisfied, she pulled her hand from Evelyn’s face. Just in time, too, judging by the glint in her eyes. Raising two boys, there was no telling what she'd had in mind for the palm covering her mouth. To distract her, Ginny tried, “It hasn’t been that long. Noah and I—”

“Noah took you on dates. You weren’t _dating_.”

Ginny couldn't fault the reasoning. Even now, months after she'd last seen him, something inside her rebelled at the thought of calling Noah Casey her boyfriend. Still, she couldn't let Ev win without more of a fight. “Well, he definitely made sure I wasn’t,” she swallowed, couldn’t quite believe she was saying this, “covered in cobwebs.”

Mrs. Sanders lit up, eyebrows climbing her forehead at this new information. It'd been a tactical deployment, but Ginny couldn't help but wish she'd held onto that card a little longer. If only to escape what was inevitably coming. 

Sure enough, Evelyn swatted at Ginny’s arm and enthused, “What? Give me all the details!”

“Ugh, no!”

“Ginny Baker, so help me—”

“Problem ladies?”

As one, she and Evelyn swiveled to face their host for the evening, both smiling innocently. Mike Lawson did not look like he believed it for a second.

“Nope,” Ginny blurted before Ev could embarrass her. “Right?”

At the nudge in her ribs, Evelyn agreed. “That’s right. Just discussing some spring cleaning.”

Of course she did. 

Closing her eyes, Ginny evened her breathing and counted to ten, willing herself not to throttle her best friend in the world. 

Before she’d quite gotten there, that best friend was saying, “Oh, there’s Blip. I’ll see you two later.”

When she opened her eyes, Mike was studying her, a half grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You wanna fill me in?”

“Not even a little bit,” she groaned. 

He laughed, but took her at her word. “All right. Then let me give you the grand tour. You’ve never been here before, right?”

“Nope,” she confirmed. This was her first time at the Casa de Lawson, and while she’d maybe daydreamed a time or ten about a more intimate affair, the annual home opener bash at the captain’s house wasn’t a bad introduction to the place. It certainly lived up to the legend. “I heard you’ve got an air hockey table and foosball.”

He rolled his eyes, but slung an arm over her shoulders and tugged her toward the stairs. Ginny didn’t quite snuggle into his side, but she certainly didn’t pull away either. Her heart felt like it was about to burst out of her chest. Not in a bad way. Even when she and Trevor were at their best, he’d never made her feel like this.

Maybe it had been a long time since she really gave romance a try. And maybe Ginny didn’t have all that much experience with relationships to begin with. She had a hunch, though, that all the experience in the world couldn’t account for the way Mike made her feel. Even without getting to sample the goods, Ginny was sure. He was it for her. And, honestly, that was just fine by her.

 


	64. give a title, get a fic: I had my eyes up on the prize, ain’t on anything else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: I had my eyes up on the prize, ain’t on anything else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; pre-relationship; it's not not a thirst fic; slightly edited

_Mike gets the Gatorade cooler dumped on him and he’s definitely wearing home whites._

* * *

“You looked.”

“I did not.”

“I don’t blame you. I’d have looked too.”

“Oh my God.”

“I mean, how couldn’t you look? You’ve probably been dreaming—”

“Lawson, for the last time, I didn’t look!”

“There’s photographic evidence that you did.”

Ginny huffed but, in her frustration, just managed not to toss her warmup jacket in her locker. Instead, methodically, she hung it up on an empty hanger and ignored the smirking captain currently occupying her changing room's doorframe. Once the jacket was completely zipped and hanging neatly next to her jerseys, there was no more fussing to do. So, she turned to look at Mike, her lips pursed. 

“That picture didn’t prove anything. 

“I and the internet beg to differ, Ginny.”

She didn’t shiver at the way her name rolled off his tongue. That was just the air conditioning. Maybe she should put her jacket back on. 

Nonetheless, she shrugged. “If I worried about what the internet thought about me all the time, I’d never get anything done.”

“Fair enough. But that still leaves me, doesn’t it?”

“Well, I’m not in charge of what you think.”

“Can you blame me for thinking it, though?”

Ginny wished she could. She really did. But she’d seen the picture in question: Mike absolutely dripping blue Gatorade and ice, his fist raised in triumph as Blip and Salvi cackled behind him, empty cooler hanging between them. 

Just looking at the photo, she was rushed right back to the moment it was taken, could remember the roar of the home crowd, celebrating their team clinching their first trip to the World Series in 20 years.

Even more clearly, she could remember the way Mike’s uniform clung damply, determinedly, to his broad shoulders and thick thighs. And, yes, to his ass too. 

Unfortunately, the picture also happened to capture Ginny forming that memory. 

From her spot between Blip and Salvamini, there was no question where Ginny Baker’s eyes had been trained at that moment in history. Just like there was no question that she liked what she saw. 

Still, Ginny would probably dig her own grave before ever admitting it, particularly to the object of her observation. So, she sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Like I said, I’m not responsible for the nonsense you dream up.” 

He shook his head, but let the matter drop. The teasing grin dropped off his face, and he suddenly became her captain and teammate more than the guy she sometimes ogled at inopportune moments. “You ready for this?”

“Absolutely,” she promised. “Eyes on the prize, Lawson.”

“So that’s where your eyes were.” 

God, she should’ve known better. And shouldn’t have given him such a good setup. Still, she could give as good as she got.

“Some prize,” Ginny scoffed, making Mike clutch at his chest in faux pain. 

“You wound me, Baker.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not even sure why I put up with you.”

Mike shook his head but finally vacated her door, stepping out into the hallway. But, because he always had to get the last word in, he couldn’t resist slinging a parting shot. 

“You and I both know the reason,” he said, sauntering away, giving Ginny an excellent view of the very thing that’d captured her attention so thoroughly a few nights ago.

Damn it if he wasn’t right.

 


	65. give a title, get a fic: Would you look at that? I came back for her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Would you look at that? I came back for her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; canon divergence; future fic, slightly edited

_A what-if where the Chicago trade went through and Mike comes back to retire as a Padre._

* * *

It took a long moment of Blip standing expectantly to the side of Ginny’s treadmill for her to realize he actually had something to say. Punching down the speed just a touch, she shifted her headphones and raised a brow.

It was as clear an invitation as he was going to get. It was all he needed.

“Today’s the big day,” he observed, leaning an elbow on the console of her machine. 

Ginny pushed him off, eyeing the slight spike in her heart rate. She shrugged anyway, and Blip didn’t call her out. Probably because she didn’t stoop to playing dumb. “So I heard.”

“You seen him yet?”

She shook her head and powered down the treadmill. “Doubt anyone will ‘til after it’s all over.”

Blip handed her a towel. “Well, he’s giving the performance of his life if you wanna catch the end of it.”

She scoffed and wiped the sweat from her brow. “I’ll catch the replay on ESPN.”

“Suit yourself.”

Five minutes later, though, found Ginny slipping into the back of the press room. She tucked herself behind Livan’s shoulder to avoid unwanted attention; this wasn't her moment. He glanced back at her, and it said a lot about how much he’d grown on her that his knowing smirk didn’t make her want to sucker punch him.

Anyway, she was a little too busy drinking in the sight of her captain. Well, former captain.

Sure, she’d seen him since he went to Chicago toward the end of her rookie season, had played him more than a few times and he did come back in the offseasons, but it was different now. Now, he wasn’t her opponent. Soon, he wouldn’t be a ballplayer at all.

So, it wasn’t inappropriate to notice that Mike Lawson was looking  _good_. His beard was lush and thick, with more than a smattering of gray sprinkled in at his temples and around his mouth, the rest of his hair artfully mussed. He’d ditched his habitual flannels for a well-fitted suit. Very well-fitted. But comfortable as he looked up there, with a charming grin for the pool of reporters arrayed before him, Ginny was sure Mike was itching to ditch the jacket and roll up his sleeves.

She couldn’t blame him.  

“It’s time,” he was saying as Ginny turned her attention to the reason Mike was back here at all: His retirement press conference. “Obviously, I wish it weren’t. If I could, I’d play another ten years, but the guys have told me they’d put me in a home before that.”

A smattering of laughter, polite from the journalists and a little more raucous from the line of Padres at the back, filled the room before the next question.

“You won a World Series with the Cubs, plus another NLDS. What made you come back to San Diego to retire?”

Mike rocked back from the table, tongue probing his cheek as he thought. His light blue button up stretched across his chest, and Ginny was almost too distracted by the strain his buttons were under to pay attention to his answer. 

But only almost. 

“Chicago gave me a ring, yeah, but San Diego gave me everything else. I got my start as a Padre, became captain as one too. I’ve always known the only way I’d leave the game was as a Padre.” 

“So you’re going to stick around town?”

“Yeah. Definitely. San Diego’s my home. Everything I love is in San Diego. And everyone.”

Unerringly—Ginny hadn’t realized that he’d even clocked her entrance, he always had played well for the cameras—Mike’s eyes met hers. He stared at her for a long, charged moment, communicating so many things they’d left unsaid while he was in Chicago, before turning his attention back to the press pool. 

Mike might be able to switch gears like that, but Ginny felt like all the breath had been stolen from her body. She slumped against the wall at her back and struggled to get her lungs working. 

They didn’t really start up again until after the game had been played and Ginny opened her changing room door to find Mike already waiting. Almost before the door was even closed, she was in his arms. And by then, it didn’t really matter if she could do something so every day as _breathe_. 

Ginny could go without a little oxygen if it meant she got to kiss Mike Lawson.

 


	66. give a title, get a fic: The Finale Inning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> missyriver: The Finale Inning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; musical theater AU; college AU; edited because i'm a dummy who initially left out an transition paragraph

_Okay, I seriously considered doing a Damn Yankees AU or a general musical theater AU because KB sings so beautifully and I’m not above capitalizing on a typo. Then I realized I don’t actually understand the plot of Damn Yankees… which I’m not letting stop me._

* * *

Ginny’d lost track of the number of times she’s kissed Mike Lawson. 

Between rehearsals and shows, it wasn’t any wonder. They put a lot of practice into making it look just right on stage. While she’d thrilled over it the first handful of times—the soft press of his mouth against hers, the almost tender way he cupped her elbow to draw her in—she’d come to realize that just because she and Mike kissed didn’t mean they were really  _kissing_. Still, she couldn’t help but regret the fact that they hadn’t been cast opposite one another more often, hadn’t gotten a chance to really perfect the technique. One show wasn’t enough.  

Because even though Ginny was only a junior, had another year to hone her craft, she wouldn’t have Mike to do it with.

Because Mike was a senior. This was his last performance at CUSD. 

After the curtain fell on tonight’s performance of  _Damn Yankees_ , she’d never kiss him again.

Well, as they say: the show must go on. 

So, Ginny went through her pre-show rituals, warming up with Evelyn and doing a mic check before the doors opened. She offered a “Break a leg!” to everyone she saw backstage, even Mike. If she couldn’t quite manage her usual sunny smile, she didn’t think Mike would notice. He was too wrapped up in the early onset of nostalgia, trailing around the theater like he wanted to commit it all to memory. 

By the time the curtain went up, Ginny had mostly managed to rein herself in. 

Mostly. 

Perhaps she teared up during “A Man Doesn’t Know” and couldn’t look him in the eyes, gone soft and a little worrying, for the rest of the scene. Something about singing “A woman doesn’t know what she has until she loses it” with Mike just a foot away, warm and perfect and soon to be gone, got to her. So maybe she avoided him during the entire intermission, too, when they usually ran through their bit of choreography for “Near to You.” It was fine, they knew the steps forwards and back anyway.

Which didn’t account for the way Mike clasped her to his chest during the scene, so much more reluctant to let her step away when the cue came than he’d ever been. If it was harder for her to exit, leaving him on stage, too, Ginny didn’t have time to think about it. They were in the middle of the show and there was no crying cue. She'd have to save her tears, and whatever yawning pit of grief was opening up inside her, for after the curtain fell. 

Ginny was mostly successful in doing this, making it through the rest of her scenes without a hitch and avoiding Mike with the same single-minded intensity. 

Right up to the finale.

She caught sight of him waiting in the wings and straightened her shoulders, readying herself to walk right by and take her place.

“Gin,” he protested, catching her around the waist. 

“Your mic,” she murmured because it was really the only protest she had to this situation. Even with her emotions going haywire over his impending exit from the CUSD Theatre program, she wasn’t going to object to Mike touching her any way he wanted. This close, though, she saw how he must’ve rushed through his costume change to catch her here. 

She reached up to press the fake beard he had to wear as Joe Boyd more firmly against his cheek. It must’ve come unstuck when he stripped off his Senators’ uniform. The first time he’d kissed her wearing it, she’d broken away, dissolved in a fit of giggles. That week, he’d taken every opportunity presented to him to get her used to it. Which had involved so much of his face right next to hers. Ginny swallowed and lowered her hand. 

“Don’t care,” Mike replied, though he did have the courtesy to lower his voice. His hands, meanwhile, remained exactly where they were, curled around her waist. He dragged her in, just a step closer, but just a step was all it took to send Ginny crashing against him. He didn’t seem to mind, simply looked down at her, eyes twinkling in the velvet dark. “Just, before the finale, I had to let you know. I wouldn’t have wanted to do this—my last show—with anyone else, Gin. Thank you for being my Meg.”

Ginny couldn’t help herself. She closed the last sliver of distance between her and Mike and kissed him. At least once, she wanted to know what it was like to really kiss Mike Lawson. Except. Maybe Mike was thinking the exact same thing. He groaned into her mouth, hot and sweet and longing. His grip on her tightened, though his hands wandered from their safe perch at her waist, sliding down her full skirt and probably wrinkling the fabric. Too late to worry about that now. Ginny’d always heard eating in costume was the great taboo, but kissing in it seemed even more dangerous.

The only reason she pulled away was to take a breath. Well, that and: 

“I’m gonna miss my cue.”

“Miss it.”

She didn’t, but it was a close call.

It was fine, though. Because when the curtain eventually fell on the final performance of  _Damn Yankees_ , Ginny Baker wasted no time in making sure that while she might have gotten her last stage kiss from Mike, it was nowhere close to being the last one ever.


	67. give a title, get a fic: Don't Walk Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> missyriver: Don't Walk Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; petty jealousy; slightly edited

_Obviously (I hope) I love mushy, lovey-dovey bawson, but lbh, they have the ability to push each other’s buttons like none other, too._

* * *

The clamor of the crowd was usually impossible to ignore. Ginny’d learned to work around it, but it rarely faded away entirely. 

Today, though, she just might manage it. 

She was too furious to worry about the thousands of people who’d paid good money to see her pitch. After all, the reason for her fury was just three feet away while all the stands were at least a solid sixty or seventy. Much easier to focus on the immediate. 

“You want to say that again?” she asked, squinting at her uncharacteristically gruff catcher. Well, he was always gruff, but he’d taken it to new levels today.

“Sure. I said,” he bit out, eye black rippling on his cheeks as he chomped on his ever-present wad of gum, “that I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let your hormones cost us the game.”

He did fucking not just say that to her face. Twice.

Rage sparked, hot and dry across her skin. From the shadow under her brim, she glared, jaw clenching.

Mike must have taken her silence for confusion, though. “I know you think Velasquez is dreamy or whatever—”

“What the fu—” Where was he even getting this shit?

“—but I’d rather not lose because you’re too busy wondering if the batter’s a good kisser or something.”

“Get back behind the plate,” she ground out, unwilling to dignify him with a real response. She’d take the high road, even if he didn’t. 

When Mike rolled his eyes before stalking away, though, Ginny seriously considered joining him on the low road. If only because it’d be easier to knock him out from there.

Thank God she managed to get out of the inning without any more trouble. Not that she’d had much to begin with. Okay, her control was a bit spotty, but she just needed to settle into a groove. Not be told that she wasn’t on her game because she was hormonal or horny whatever the fuck Lawson had deluded himself into thinking.

When, a bare four innings later, Al strolled up to the mound, lineup card in tow, Ginny didn’t argue. She put the ball in her manager’s hand and left the field. Not once did she look back at her catcher.

Ginny didn’t just leave the game. She left the Park entirely. She wasn’t supposed to. Was always supposed to do post-game press after her starts, not to mention meet with the pitching coach and PT team and whoever else management threw in her way, but she just didn’t have it in her. Not when she was positive that she’d throttle the next person she saw. 

Luckily enough, the next person she saw also happened to be responsible for her thunderous mood. 

Hours after the game had ended, the ire swarming her gut was only just beginning to settle. But the minute Ginny opened the door to Mike Lawson, wearing his stupid leather jacket and a pissed off expression, it flared back to life.

“What do you want?”

Mike brushed by her before she could think to bar his way. 

“I came to see why you didn’t come over like you said you would this morning.”

Ginny stared at him. This morning, the one where she’d woken up tangled in Mike’s sheets and his limbs, felt so distant it might as well have been an alien planet. 

Straightening her spine and lifting her chin, she informed him, “I didn’t think you were that interested in my company tonight.”

No reaction greeted her words. Not surprise or anger or, what she really wanted, regret. Mike simply stared her down. “Why would you think that?”

She scoffed. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. You don’t get to walk away without an explanation.”

“Well, you don’t get to be a fucking dick. Looks like we’re both disappointed tonight.” 

That earned a reaction. She steeled herself against the flicker of doubt that passed over Mike’s face and pushed by him to— Honestly, she didn’t know. Ginny just wanted the distraction. 

Mike trailed after her. After a long, uncomfortable silence, Ginny ignoring him as he grew more fidgety, he blurted, “You said you liked his hands.”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, vaguely recalling the conversation in the clubhouse from this afternoon.

He advanced on her, still glaring, but uncertain now, too. “You told me you like my hands.”

Oh, dear God. Was that what this was about?

As patiently as she could, which ended up being not patiently at all, she said, “Because I  _do_  like your hands.”

“Then why would you—”

“First of all, I can like the look of another guy’s hands. Or his face. Even his ass.” Mike glowered at that. “It doesn’t mean I like your hands or face or ass any less. Even when you’re being an asshole.”

He rolled his eyes, but the furrow in his brow began to unwrinkle. “Is there a second of all?”

“Second of all,” Ginny said wrinkling her nose at him, “that’s what I always say if someone asks me about a guy. ‘Oh, seems like he has nice hands.’ It’s enough of an opinion that no one asks for more, but doesn’t really mean anything.”

Mike looked gobsmacked. He shook it off a little quicker than Ginny’d like, but she could deal with it. Smiling a little slyly, he checked, “Except when you say it about me, right?”

“Well, I actually  _know_  you have nice hands…”

Laughing, he ate up the distance between them in two long strides. Once he got there, he cupped her face in his big—very, very nice—hands and kissed her. Ginny let him, feeling all her anger cool and leak away. By the time they parted, it was completely gone.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “for being such an asshole. Can I make it up to you?”

“You can try,” she eventually allowed, doing her best to look stern when all the corners of her mouth wanted to do was turn up.

If, by the end of the evening, that sternness had faded just as easily as her anger, Ginny didn’t mind. Didn’t try to hold onto it. After all, it really was so much easier to focus on the immediate.

 


	68. give a title, get a fic: Oh when you look at me like that my darling, what did you expect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: "Oh when you look at me like that my darling, what did you expect" for the title thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; future fic; slightly edited

_If you didn’t think this was the perfect opportunity for some eye sex, I hate to disappoint you, but…_

* * *

Ginny took a sip of her champagne and a break from smiling blandly at some Padres Foundation donor who seemed a little more interested in the way she filled out her dress than the way his— _sizable,_ as he kept saying pointedly—donation would be put to use. The bubbles tickled down her throat, but it wasn’t enough to distract her from the fact that she wished she could be just about anywhere else. 

She bit down on a sigh, hoping her mask of polite interest hadn’t slipped. There were still two hours left in the annual gala, and Oscar would have her head if she tried to sneak out early. As had been drilled into her and her teammates in the weeks leading up to this affair, all Padres were expected to make full and cheerful appearances.

Coaching staff included.

“Excuse me,” came the voice of one of those coaches, gruff but distinctly charming—though maybe that was just Ginny—at the same time. “Would you mind if I borrowed Baker for a minute?”

The donor looked as if he absolutely  _did_  mind, but Ginny didn’t. She’d already listened to him longer than any reasonable person should have to. So, she smiled, bright enough to knock the guy off balance, and made her escape, her coach’s hand at her back guiding her away. 

Once they’d gotten out of earshot, Ginny gave her new, and much more welcome, companion a nudge. “Thanks for the rescue, Lawson.”

His hand didn’t move from her back, though it did slip lower, from between her shoulder blades to the bare skin at the small of her back. Retirement hadn’t made a dent in calluses years of hard playing had put on his hands. Rough fingertips pressed into her skin, propelling her forward. 

She _knew_ she picked this dress for a reason.

When Ginny chanced a look up at the Padres’ newest staff member—Mike Lawson, MLB batting coach certainly had a nice ring to it—his jaw was clenched, eyes focused on his destination. 

Which happened to be a set of swinging service doors. 

She didn’t bother biting back her grin. 

In a matter of moments, Mike had steered her into the service hall, past a milling cater waiter, and down another—blissfully deserted—hallway. He found a recess with a door which was locked, but would be enough to keep them from being noticed if anyone happened to glance this way. 

Leaning up against the wall where Mike put her, Ginny grinned coyly up at him. Idly, she reached out to toy with his tie, a silky number that slipped easily through her fingers. “You come here often?”

He rolled his eyes and ignored the question, but didn’t back away from his position looming over her, one forearm braced next to her head. “You wanna explain what happened out there?”

She tipped her head to the side—putting her curls within easy reach of his clenched fingers, where they’d spent so much time last night. And this morning—and blinked innocently. “Can you be more specific?”

“You want specifics, Gin?” he breathed, a heavy rumble that coursed through her body and settled high between her thighs. “How about the fact that every time I’ve looked up, there you’ve been, staring back? Like you can’t wait to get me out of this suit?” Mike certainly wasn’t wrong. Ginny’d wanted to peel Mike Lawson out of a suit for far longer than was probably appropriate considering they’d only started dating last October when Mike officially retired. “You haven’t stopped eye fucking me since I walked in the door.”

“I would’ve started earlier if you’d agreed to come with me like I wanted,” she threw back, lifting her chin. And, yes, putting the long line of her neck on perfect display.

“Gin,” Mike sighed, his forehead dipping to kiss against hers, “you know we can’t—”

“I know why you think we can’t,” Ginny retorted, not quite pouting. The jut of her bottom lip brushed up against his and he shuddered out a long breath, so she kept talking. “But you’re not my captain or teammate anymore. You’re hardly even my coach.”

“You should want me to be your coach,” he grumped. “Your timing at the plate has been off.”

“Well, I want you to be my boyfriend.”

As always, Mike couldn’t help but grin. He’d tried to argue he was too old to be anyone’s boyfriend once. Just the once, though. Ginny was plenty persuasive when she wanted to be.

Like right now.

“I can do that,” he promised, finally leaning down to press his lips against hers. She arched into him, using her grip on his tie to reel him in. Mike laughed into her mouth. “Wanna get out of here?”

Ginny considered. Oscar had been very clear that he expected the team to stick around to the bitter end. But then Mike’s beard dragged against her jaw and her mind was made up. 

“Thought you’d never ask.”

 


	69. give a title, get a fic: drunk words, sober thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: "drunk words, sober thoughts"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; drunk dialing; slightly edited

_I’d definitely go drunk dialing because I have already given this topic more thought than is probably socially acceptable and need the outlet._

* * *

“You have any idea what fucking time it is?”

Mike didn’t. He’d groped for his buzzing phone and answered it without once opening his eyes.

Any thought of getting back to sleep—after probably tearing whoever’d called a new one—went out the window at the reply he received.

The sound of a giggle, loud and interrupted by a hiccup, broke the last of sleep’s hold on Mike’s brain. He knew that laugh. Had, in fact, just been dreaming of it. Over the phone, right in his ear, and with his eyes still closed, it almost sounded like it could’ve come from his bed.

Even if something now seemed a bit off about it.

“I think,” Ginny continued, words sloshing around together in her mouth, “it’s, like, two?”

He rolled to his side to check the clock on his bedside table. 2:13 glared back at him in glowing green. 

“What’re you doing out so late?” he demanded, flopping onto his back again. There was no question that Ginny Baker wasn’t tucked safely in bed. She was out and had been for a while if the way she was slurring her words were any indication. 

And was that—? Yep. That was the slurp of a drink’s dregs being sucked through a cocktail straw. 

“It’s Cara’s birthday,” she announced, like that meant anything to him.

“So shouldn’t you be with the birthday girl?”

“She fell asleep already.” Mike could just imagine the pout on her face. Which said more about his imagination than anything else. Had he ever seen her pout before?

“So why not wake her up?” he groused, though, honestly, he would do much worse than lose a little sleep to spend time with Ginny Baker. Even if it was just over the phone.

“Because I had to ask you a question.”

“Ask away.”

“Okay. Um.” She giggled again and Mike wanted to live in that sound. When she spoke next, it was clear Ginny was doing her very best to reel herself and her tipsy thoughts in. “How was your day?”

Mike laughed. He couldn’t help it. “That’s what you needed to call and wake me up at 2:15 to ask?”

“Well, no. But I can’t just  _ask_.”

That piqued Mike’s interest. Shifting beneath the blankets, it was now his turn to reel in his thoughts. There was a non-zero chance that what she wanted to ask him could fuel a lot of— Well. Better to cross that bridge when they came to it. 

“You can ask me anything, Ginny.”

She went quiet. Just her breathing and his mingled over the line. 

Finally, Ginny said, “How d’you always make me feel like this?” 

“Like what?” he managed to ask around his heart wedged in his throat.

It spoke to how much she’d had to drink tonight that Ginny actually answered. “Like I can’t get enough of you, even when I’m sick of your face and want to kick you off my mound. Literally. It never lasts, though. You say something, or just look at me even, and I’m back to wanting—” Mike was surprised she’d let herself get that far. Her breath was a little ragged. She sniffed, but continued, “And it all happens without you even trying.”

“I try.” If Ginny could confess all that, with a little liquid courage, sure, he could give her this.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh.” Silence reigned for another beat. “That’s good to know.”

“I thought it might be.”

She laughed, softer now. Her words were coming slower, too, sleep catching up to her. “That wasn’t the question I was going to ask, you know.”

“You still can if you want.”

“Nah. I’ll save it for later.” 

Mike considered pressing her, but she really did sound tired. Plus, it would be more fun to coax it out of her when she was sober. “If you’re sure,” he said, eyes drifting closed.

“I am. Get some sleep, old man.”

“Back atcha, rook.”

Mike couldn’t say if he fell asleep before or after Ginny hung up, but when he awoke in the morning, his phone was dead.

 


	70. give a title, get a fic: Let me take the friction from your lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: "Let me take the friction from your lips"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; pre-relationship; Mike's just trying to stay sane; slightly edited

_Ginny starts wearing lipstick. The world—and Mike, obviously—takes notice._

* * *

The first time Ginny Baker walked into the clubhouse with a face full of makeup, her hair sculpted into soft waves and at odds with her usual workout gear, Mike did not swallow his tongue.

He didn’t. He’d wanted to, but he didn’t.

She glared around at her teammates, daring them to comment on the new look. Only Livan took her up on it. 

“Damn,  _mami_. This what your walk of shame looks like?”

Her lips pursed, and Mike would be lying if he said the way her ruby red lips pressed together, almost a pout, wasn’t immediately burned into his brain. 

“I had a photo shoot run long,” she replied, clipped, before stalking off to her changing room. 

When she emerged, her hair was scraped back into its customary ponytail and every trace of makeup had been scrubbed from her face. Well, almost every trace. Her lipstick had managed to stain the usual shell pink of her lips an unmistakable red. 

Predictably, the world lost its mind. She didn’t even pitch that day, but shots of her in the dugout took over the internet. Everyone had an opinion on it. Everyone apparently  _had_ to have an opinion on it.

Which wasn't to say Mike didn't, too. He just wasn’t tweeting it out for the world to see. 

No, he’d sit on the feelings her bright red lips inspired for the rest of his natural life probably. He could live with that. 

When it was a one-time thing, that was even true.

Except it wasn’t. Because Ginny Baker, sweet as she looked on the outside, was a rebel at heart. She lived to subvert people’s opinions of her, and apparently lipstick was the way to do that. 

Or, maybe she just decided she liked the way it looked and decided to wear it more often. 

Mike didn’t know. He very deliberately was not talking about this with Ginny. He did his best not to even think about the subject since it was all to easy to let his mind wander down forbidden paths. 

He’d thought he was playing it pretty cool, but if he was, Ginny probably wouldn’t be staring him down, frown pasted on her lips. 

Her red lips. 

“What’s your deal, Lawson?” she’d demanded, sliding into the passenger side of his truck just as he hopped in himself. 

Jesus, how long had she waited out here? He’d’ve sworn she was long gone. Which, yes, may have played into his decision to finally leave the trainer’s room and head home. 

Playing at nonchalance, he started up the car. “It’s with Under Armour. You thinking about leaving Nike?”

She blew out an irked breath but mechanically buckled her seat belt as the car started to roll out of its spot. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“It could’ve been,” he defended before switching tacks. Mike didn’t think it’d distract her for long, but he might as well try. “Need a ride home?”

“No, I was planning on jumping out just before you hit the highway.”

“Tuck and roll.”

She snorted, but her amusement was short-lived. “C’mon, Lawson. You’ve been avoiding me.”

Okay, she maybe had him there. It was just— Mike had never been oblivious to the way Ginny looked. From day one—day negative whatever, if he were honest, the first time he caved and looked up the hurler making waves in El Paso—he’d been perfectly aware that Ginny Baker was a smoke show. He had, of course, also gotten used to it.

Or so he thought. 

As it turned out, Mike had mostly blocked off his awareness of just how gorgeous Ginny was in order to function like a regular human being. But once something came along to draw his attention to it again, there was no turning back. Pandora’s Box couldn’t be shut again.

“I see you every day, Baker. Pretty hard to avoid you,” he tried anyway.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “You won’t even look at me.”

“A little busy to feed your ego right now. Maybe once we hit a stop light.”

“It feels like you’re mad at me.”

That got Mike to take his eyes off the road. He risked a glance over at her and found her brows drawn down, creating a wrinkle above her nose. Her lips were red, but that was all he let himself notice about them. 

“’M not mad at you. I’m—” he floundered for a feasible excuse, but his mind was blank. Facing forward again, Mike shook his head, hoping to clear it. “Trust me, I’m not mad.”

He could feel her eyes boring into the side of his face, but he concentrated on getting them both safely to Ginny’s little beach-side cottage. Once they got there, he left the big truck idling, sure that if he killed the engine, he’d let himself be talked into walking her to the door or even accompanying her inside. And that couldn’t happen. 

Not yet at least. 

Ginny didn’t push her luck. She unlatched her seatbelt but turned toward him rather than the door. Chewing on her lip, not making a single dent in the color painted there, she asked, “You sure you’re not angry?”

Mike let himself drink her in. The doubt in her topaz eyes and the tension sitting in her shoulders. The straight, smooth line of her nose and the lift of her chin. And, yes, the lush, berry red of her mouth. 

He replied, “I’m sure.”

Some of the doubt lightened, and she offered him a tentative grin. 

“Okay,” Ginny said, one hand going to the door handle. Before she opened it, though, she leaned across the center console and planted a soft, lingering kiss on Mike’s cheek. “Thanks for the ride.”

Before his brain managed to reset itself, she was out of the car, up the walkway, and tucked safely away in her house. Automatically, he pulled away from the curb and navigated his way home. 

It wasn’t until hours later, as he got ready for bed, that Mike caught sight of his reflection. 

Perfectly formed right over the spot that hadn’t stopped tingling since Ginny’s lips left it, was evidence that they’d been there at all. A perfect kiss. The only reason he convinced himself to wash it off was because Mike promised himself that it wouldn’t be the last time Ginny Baker left her mark on him.

 


	71. give a title, get a fic: does my ass look good in this?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> osmarinamo: Am I allowed a 2nd story title? “Does my ass look good in this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; established relationship; slightly edited

“Your ass looks good in everything.”

It’s an automatic response. Ginny’s not even looking when Mike whirls on her, a delighted smirk spreading across his face. She’s too busy searching the DVR for another episode of  _Storage Wars_. 

The girl really does love her A&E. 

But Mike’s pretty sure she likes him better. 

“Really?” he asks, drawing out the simple word as he prowls away from the closet and toward his unsuspecting girlfriend. She doesn’t so much as twitch when he settles himself behind her on the bed, brushing her hair away from her shoulder. 

“Really,” she drawls back, though she has the decency to turn off the TV and set the remote aside. Her head tips to the side in invitation. 

Mike doesn’t take it. 

“And how would you know that, Ms. Baker?”

“Extensive study.” Those two words should not sound so tempting, but Ginny’s got a knack. It’s practically a purr. 

God, he’s one lucky bastard. 

Apparently determined to show him just how lucky, Ginny wriggles around until she’s kneeling between his thighs, facing him. With a gentle shove, all she’d’ve really needed was a feather or a light breeze, she sends him sprawling back on the mattress. He tucks his hands behind his head, appreciating the view of Ginny crawling over the top of him, settling into a comfortable straddle over his stomach. 

Mike arches a brow up at her. “Just how extensive are we talking, here? You really dedicate yourself to studying my ass in every pair of pants I own?”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” Ginny replies, prim for a woman who’s sitting astride him in just one of his old t-shirts. One brown shoulder peaks out of the stretched collar. 

“I don’t have to. You just told me my ass looks amazing—”

“I said ‘good!’”

“—in everything I put it in. That’s more than enough compliment for the evening.”

“Oh, so you don’t want to hear what else I was going to say?”

Mike squints up at her, unsure if this is some kind of trap. Well, he's already well and truly caught, might as well go along with the rest of Ginny’s play. 

“Tell me,” he demands, like he’s in any position to demand anything. 

“I will,” she says, before letting a wicked grin creep across her face. “Once you’ve earned it.”

(Needless to say, Mike more than earns the confession. Hours later, as they lay together in bed, Ginny stretches languidly and tells him:

“Your ass might look good in everything, but,” here she pauses to give his bare cheek a fond smack, “this is how I like it best.”)

 


	72. give a title, get a fic: sweet dreams turn into coffee in the morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: "sweet dreams turn into coffee in the morning"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; canon divergence, episode 9; slightly edited

_Not gonna lie, I let myself listen to this song over and over. Both for inspiration and because it’s really good. Anyway, please also consider: “we could both say goodbye all night.” I definitely did, and now I’ve made my contribution to the “Mike doesn’t take Oscar’s call and things go from there” trope_

* * *

Mike’s pretty sure that the memory of this, his last night in San Diego, is going to be more than enough to keep him warm all through the chilly Chicago fall. 

There’s part of him that knows he should’ve done something with the team, some kind of send-off, but he can’t bring himself to regret a single minute of this evening. Not when it’s ended with him here. In bed with Ginny Baker.

It’s a little surreal. A lot surreal, actually. Then again, Mike’s already doing things he never thought he would, what’s sleeping with a teammate on top of everything else?

(The difference, of course, is that Mike never wanted to do those other things; he never wanted to move to first or give up his captaincy or leave the Padres. He has wanted to fall into bed with Ginny. Has wanted it so much those other things seemed like a pretty fair trade.)

And he and Ginny definitely fell into bed tonight. And stayed there.

Just a few inches away, Ginny dozes, looking perfectly at home between his sheets. They’ve gone a couple rounds, and while Mike is already dying for a couple more, he knows what she’s like when she’s sleep deprived. 

Plus, now he can say Ginny Baker has slept in his bed. He’s worn out a 23-year-old phenom. It’s a nice stroke to the ego. 

Her eyelashes flicker as she dreams. It’s self-centered—when isn’t he?—but Mike wants her to be dreaming of him. Wants her to dream of him the way he’s dreamed of her, and will continue to dream of her once he boards that plane for Chicago, for the past two and a half months: every night and with greedy desperation.

Sweat still pools in the dip of her collarbone. Mike’s already had the opportunity to lick it away, but she’d liked it the first time. She probably wouldn’t mind if he does it again. 

He rolls closer to her, dragging his chin and the beard he’d finally gotten her to admit to liking up the bare skin of her arm. She shivers, but shifts into his touch. Mike presses a kiss to the round of her shoulder and props himself up to get a better vantage. When he looks down at Ginny, she blinks back at him, sleepy and soft and so utterly perfect it hurts a little. 

“Hey, old man,” she murmurs, stretching.

“I’m not the one who needed the cat nap,” he teases, brushing a stray curl away from her face. 

“Just storing up some energy to really sell this goodbye.” Ginny smiles, but there’s a melancholy to it that Mike wishes he didn’t understand quite so well. 

“Not satisfied with your work so far?” he laughs, rolling to his back and pulling Ginny with him. Her delighted burst of giggles, coupled with the way she stretches out on top of him, every ounce of her bare flesh flush against his, is a pretty good remedy to the lingering awareness that he’s leaving her in the morning.

She presses a line of kisses to his jaw and down his throat, murmuring between each one, “That was just the warm-up. I have to make sure you’ll really miss me.”

“You won’t have any trouble there, Gin.”

Ginny freezes for a second before lifting away from his chest to stare him in the eye. In spite of the way she’s got him flat on his back, utterly exposed, she’s the one looking vulnerable. 

“I can’t tell if I want to know why you’re leaving or not.” 

In the dark, the confession hovers between them for a long moment before Mike answers, “You know why.”

“Yeah,” Ginny agrees with a little sniff. “I do.”

It seems safer to leave things unsaid. Maybe it’s the coward in him, but Mike knows that if he speaks the words out loud, even with just Ginny here to listen, they’ll become more real than they already are. He won’t be able to get up, take a shower, maybe share a cup of coffee and one last kiss, and leave San Diego and Ginny Baker behind the way he should. 

So, he encourages her down for a not-last kiss, swiping away the glimmer of moisture he’d seen lurking at the corner of her eye. She sighs into him, body going soft and pliant. Mike takes the opportunity to roll her beneath him, to fit his hips once more into the cradle of her thighs. Ginny’s arms twine around his neck, drawing him as close as possible.

“Let me show you how much I’ll miss you, then,” she whispers, and Mike’s never heard a better idea. He thinks he’ll join in on that venture.

The sun begins to rise before either of them have quite managed it, but it’s all the time they have.

Mike promises himself it’s not forever as he catches sight of his phone and the new voicemail notification that’s been waiting for him ever since he stumbled home with Ginny. Automatically, he reaches for it, even as he tells himself he only has to stay in Chicago until October. November at the outside. He’ll be back with Ginny, he thinks as he keys in his code and taps his recent call list, and hopefully prepared to actually put his feelings into words, once the season’s over. 

He keeps telling himself that. Right up until Oscar’s voice starts to play in his ear.

 


	73. give a title, get a fic: white sheets, bright lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: for the title fic thing: "white sheets, bright lights"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; pre-relationship; innuendo ahoy; slightly edited

_Is it weird that my mind went immediately to porn? Like. That very specific porn aesthetic with a stark white set and the high-relief lighting? It is? Hm. Well, ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯_

_but also, to burst any bubbles before we get too deep, this is not porn. the never-to-exist sequel to this would probably be porn, but, to be clear, that a) does not and will not exist and b) isn’t this._

* * *

Mike would like it on the record that he did not agree to this. As a 37-year-old man, he did not fucking agree to play god damn Truth or Dare. 

As a captain who was still catching shit for trying to waive his no-trade clause last season, however… 

Either way, his participation was under duress. Severe duress. 

Which was only growing severer now that he’d been dared twice to jump into his pool fully clothed and return to the team without drying off. 

Arizona spring evenings were no joke, especially when you spent them soaking wet and being laughed at. At least the bonfire would keep him from freezing. 

Hopefully.

Well, at least they weren’t dogpiling him anymore. He’d paid his penance apparently. It was Omar’s turn now.

“Truth.”

Without missing a beat, Sonny asked, “What was the last porno you watched?”

Robles flushed, eyes darting around the circle but studiously avoiding Ginny. 

If she noticed, she didn’t seem to care. Curled into the corner of one of the patio couches, she looked interested enough in the proceedings not to draw any flak, but not so interested that she’d call attention to herself. 

Well, Ginny might not have a problem with where all this was going, but Mike definitely did.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think Ginny didn’t know what porn was. Or that she hadn’t watched it a time or two herself—

Okay, it was exactly that. 

The problem lay in the fact that thinking about Ginny and porn together led to thinking about Ginny watching porn to Ginny liking porn to Ginny doing almost anything that was in porn— 

The problem was Mike didn’t need  _more_  reason to think about all that. 

Well, that and he didn’t want to give anyone else a reason to think about all that. Which was pretty fucking inevitable if the topic happened to come up.

So, Mike made sure it wouldn’t.

Shoving to his feet, he announced, “I don’t know about you, but I’m not prepared to sit through another HR lecture because Evers’s spank bank has run dry.” Sonny rolled his eyes, but accepted the good-natured ribbing of his teammates. “And, since I’m old and you all’ve possibly made me catch pneumonia, I’m kicking you out.”

The party broke up without much fuss. Mike focused on cleaning up and making sure the fire was well and truly dead. His teammates were grownups. Mostly. They could find the door without help. 

If he now had a reason to ignore Ginny hovering at the patio door, that was his business. Still, it was only once she disappeared, presumably to her own rental for some sleep before tomorrow’s game, that he allowed himself back inside. 

He should’ve known better than to presume anything with Ginny Baker. 

When he rounded the corner into his kitchen, he froze, nearly dropping the bag of trash in his surprise. 

From her position on the counter, Ginny raised an eyebrow. He scowled and stalked towards his recycling bin, electing to ignore her in favor of sorting through the trash.

Ginny, never content to be one-upped, ignored the fact that he was ignoring her. Into the quiet of the house, she announced, “Don’t think I don’t know why you ended the game like that.”

Mike didn’t argue. He even turned to look at her. “Didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I wasn’t. But you were.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Yes.” He laughed, but Ginny’s expression didn’t flicker. “It’s not your job to protect me.”

It was, but he’d humor her. And anyway, “That’s not what I was doing.”

“No? Then what was it?”

“Self-preservation,” he replied, frank. “Keeping myself from having to brain them all once they realized you and porn can exist in the same thought.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Like they haven’t already.”

Point. Not that Mike wanted to acknowledge it.

“Anyway, doesn't that mean you've already reached that conclusion?”

Mike swallowed. He could lie or play it off as a joke, but there was something too serious in Ginny’s gaze for him to try it. “Maybe.”

Ginny nodded, pink tongue flashing at the corner of her mouth as she considered. Finally, she hopped down from the counter and sauntered over. Mike held his breath, unsure of what he wanted. On the one hand, they shouldn’t—couldn’t—do anything while he was her captain. On the other, if she didn’t touch him, he was pretty sure he might die. 

She didn’t, but the way she smirked up at him, cocky and confident as only the young can pull off, was almost as good. 

“Well then, maybe,” Ginny drawled, leaning close enough that Mike could smell her perfume, feel her body heat, “you should know: I don’t watch porn.”

Mike didn’t want to say it wasn’t a letdown, but it was a surprise. She hadn’t been connected to anyone since the tech guy. He would’ve figured—

Nothing. He would’ve figured nothing about the increased role of porn in Ginny’s sex life. 

“Seriously?”

She rolled her eyes. “There’s this thing called the imagination, captain,” she said, which was fair enough. It wasn’t until her gaze raked over him, taking in the way his damp shirt and shorts clung to his body that he really got what Ginny was driving at, though. “That’s all I need.”

He couldn’t help but sway closer, practically looming over her. “And what about what you want?”

Ginny shrugged, but Mike was close enough that he could see the way the black of her pupil nearly obliterated the brown iris. She licked her lips, which just was not playing fair, and answered, “There’s a lot I want, but I’m willing to wait for a little delayed gratification.”

If Mike had his way, which he hoped and prayed he would, there would be nothing little about Ginny’s eventual gratification. Or his.

(Anyway, Ginny wasn’t the only one with an active, and creative, imagination. Just because he was waiting didn’t mean he couldn’t start making some plans. Plans he was pretty sure would blow her imagination out of the water.)

 


	74. give a title, get a fic: only bought this dress so you could take it off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: "only bought this dress so you could take it off"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: send me a title, I'll tell you what I'd write for it; fic stub; pre-relationship; Ginny & Evelyn; slightly edited

_I mean, yes. That’s clearly the thought process for a lot of Mike and Ginny’s clothes at a certain point. But I am a strong believer in the theory that Ginny does not pick out her fancy clothes by herself. So here’s Evelyn hitting on Ginny for Mike. Pre-hitting on Ginny?_

* * *

“Damn, G!” From anyone else, the low whistle and slow perusal of her body would’ve set Ginny’s teeth on edge. From Evelyn, the reaction was positively restrained. 

To be fair, it deserved the admiration. The dress seemed to cling and float in equal measure; every time she twisted to the side, the skirt flared out before draping over her hips and thighs once again. Ginny couldn’t resist getting another glimpse, watching as the hem wafted up to the tops of her thighs before falling back to hang just above her knees. Over her shoulder, she admired the supple plane of her back, bare above the waist except for the thin, crisscrossing straps that held the bodice close to her chest.

Evelyn just shook her head. “If I weren’t married and out of your league, that dress would totally make me consider hitting on you.”

Ginny snorted, but she kind of got where Evelyn was coming from. The dress was just that amazing.

“So you think I should get it?”

Her friend stared at her like she’d gone insane. “Are you insane?” she asked. “If you don’t buy that dress, that gift from God himself, Ginny Baker, I will never speak to you again.”

“Just checking!” she laughed, stepping off the low pedestal to go back into her changing room. 

With the slatted door between them, Evelyn only grew bolder. 

“Seriously. If that dress doesn’t get Mike to make a god damn move already—”

“Ev,” Ginny groaned, though she privately agreed. Mike had been functionally retired since the season ended, but things between them remained at a stalemate. Until he officially signed all the papers and had his retirement party—now less than three days away, she had a feeling they would stay that way. 

Well. She could wait three days. She’d already waited three years. A few more days was nothing.

(As it turned out, that confidence was entirely unearned. Ginny showed up on Mike’s doorstep just six hours before he was set to sign the papers that would take him off the Padres roster for good. 

Nonetheless, as soon as he caught sight of her in that magic dress, all formalities were forgotten. For a while, at least.

Still, he did convince her to wear it to his retirement party later that night. 

If only so he could have the pleasure of taking it off once more.)

 


	75. ficlet: get over your hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Ginny buys a different scented hair product (than what she usually buys) and mike notices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, pre-relationship, slightly edited
> 
> title: "After the Storm" by Mumford and Sons

The first, second, and even the third game it happens, Ginny doesn’t think anything of it. But when Mike shows every intention of making a habit of handing off her hat whenever she comes back from a failed—or, very rarely, successful—trip to the plate, she has to realize something’s up.

This time, when he plops it on her head before she can even reach for it, she fixes him with a suspicious glare. Well, once she pulls the brim up over her eyes, she does. Before she can give voice to a question, though she’s not exactly sure what the question should even be, he rolls his eyes and prowls off to get ready for his own at bat. 

It’s not until the game’s over—4-1, Padres—and the clubhouse is mostly empty that Ginny finally has words to put to her curiosity. 

She flops into Blip’s vacated chair and swivels to face her captain, who’s peeling off KT Tape and pretending not to wince as it pulls at his leg hair. He’s also pretending Ginny’s not there. 

Well, he can pretend all he likes. Doesn’t mean Ginny has to.

“I’ve been thinking it over,” she says, casual as anything, though her gaze beneath heavy lids is sharp, “and the only explanation I’ve come up with is you’re trying to pull some long con on me.”

Mike doesn’t bother playing dumb. “I wouldn’t do that,” he grumbles.  


She knows. Anyone else, and she’d be bracing herself for the day her hat gets handed to her with freshly chewed gum stuck in the band or something equally gross. But it’s Mike. His idea of a prank is nailing her cleats to her cubby. Old school but effective.

“So what are you doing?” 

Beneath the beard—which maybe Ginny’s fingers itch to comb through; enough that she twists them together and squeezes them between her knees to combat the urge—his jaw works. Whatever he fights with himself over, she doesn’t like the winner. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Mike says, gruff.  


An incredulous laugh bursts out of her mouth. “That’s like telling the sun not to rise.”

Finally, he looks at her. Ginny doesn’t like to think there’s much vulnerability in her stare, but if that’s what it takes to get her captain to soften, tension leaking out of the set of his shoulders, she’ll take it. 

Mike shakes his head, looking rueful. With himself or her or this situation they keep finding themselves in, she couldn’t say, but the upward tick at the corner of his mouth is too good to question.

“It’s really not a big deal,” he says. “I just— I noticed you— God, this is stupid.”  


“Just tell me, old man.”   


His laugh is fonder than hers had been, and the way he looks at her—all dark eyes and the weight of wishing—makes Ginny wish she’d never thought the word  _code_  in her life. She swallows but doesn’t let herself look away. Looking’s all she gets for at least the next season and a half. 

“I like the way your new shampoo smells, rookie,” he finally admits, shyer than she’s ever heard him. 

Ginny freezes in her seat and struggles not to let the grin that wants to bloom take root. She must not succeed—or Mike just knows her too well—because he rolls his eyes and tosses his towel in her face. She splutters in protest and bats it away. But still takes the opportunity to inhale the fresh, clean scent of Mike’s own familiar smell, of course. Okay, maybe looking’snot  _all_  she can do.

Giving in to her impulse, she grins at him. “I’ll make sure to get you your own bottle.”

“Not quite what I was angling for,” Mike drawls, “but I guess it’ll do.”

“For now,” she finds herself blurting before her brain can catch up.

“Yeah,” he agrees, grinning back sweet and intense all at once. Seriously, three—three and a half if she wants to count all the friendly shoulder bumps and celebratory hugs and high fives that sometimes linger longer than they should—of the five senses are not going to cut it. Sight, sound, smell, and touch (sometimes) is fine, but, God, does she want taste, too. Well, that’s where her imagination comes in, isn’t it? “For now.”

  



	76. ficlet: what better gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Prompt idea... after mike retires they get some sort of pet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, future fic, pre-relationship, slightly edited
> 
> title: Charles Dickens quote, " _What better gift_ than the love of a cat?"

“Meals on Wheels!” Ginny called as she let herself into Mike’s awful, glass monstrosity, Japanese takeout in tow.

“It wasn’t funny the first time.” Mike’s voice floated down the stairs, about as grumpy as it ever was.

Ginny climbed past the shrine to his ego—even if she really did love that painting, it was beyond the pale for him to have hung it in his own house—just in time to see Mike wander out of his home office. She was told he was in the process of writing a memoir, but she had yet to see any proof of it. Every time she came over while he was "working," she inevitably found him arguing about Star Wars with strangers on the internet while a blank word document languished in the background.

“What’d you bring me?” he demanded, rubbing his hands together. 

“Sushi from that place Mission Valley.”

“The one the twins like?”

“Where else?" With Evelyn Sanders for a mother, it was only natural for Gabe and Marcus to have excellent taste.

They made their way through the game room and out to the patio to enjoy the crisp January air as they ate.

If either of them had thought that this was where they’d be three months into Mike’s retirement—their easy dynamic on the field rolled over into an endless parade of lunches and casual hangouts and family dinners with Blip and Ev—it would’ve been a surprise to just about everyone who ever spent more than an hour with them. Their chemistry, on and off the field, was just that palpable. Then again, neither Mike nor Ginny seemed too anxious to disrupt what was currently working just fine. Even if they both were fairly sure that “just fine” was about seven steps below what they could be doing.

They settled at the table, chatting easily. Well, Ginny ribbed him, and he mostly took it because even if Ginny Baker was laughing at him, at least he got to hear her laugh.

“I can’t be your only source of socialization, Lawson.”

“You’re not,” he protested, unloading their feast. “Blip and I play cribbage sometimes.” 

“Blip smokes you at cribbage sometimes,” she muttered, breaking her chopsticks apart and reaching for his sashimi. Before she could nab it, though, she froze, eyes going wide. “Is that a cat?” 

Mike turned to follow her gaze and saw what was undeniably a large, brown striped cat sunning itself near the pool. He shrugged. He’d never been a cat person, which didn’t seem to bother the neighborhood cats who ranged through his backyard any. “Yeah. Just ignore it.” 

Ginny, suffice it to say, did not. 

“Here, sweetheart,” she crooned, making kissing noises to the cat, who only deigned to prowl over when she started picking apart her salmon roll.

Fish secured, the tabby began to purr, butting against her fingers. Ginny lit up, darting a delighted look at her ex-captain. He immediately knew he was in trouble, a feeling which only deepened over the course of the afternoon as Ginny dragged him to a vet to see if the cat had a microchip and, when it turned out it didn’t, to Petco—naturally—for supplies. 

“Just until you find the owner,” she lied just before loading a ten-pound bag of food into his cart.

Hours later, when Ginny finally left his house having apparently contented herself that he wouldn’t release the cat back into the wilds of La Jolla, Mike looked around himself in bemusement. His once sleek bachelor pad was now littered with feathered mice, little foil balls, and a steadily mounting layer of fur.

He glanced over at the source of this clutter, purring contentedly on the counter.

“I have a cat now, don’t I?”

The cat—he was probably gonna have to name the thing soon, wasn't he?—didn’t even have the grace to meow back. She simply blinked, lifted a leg delicately into the air, and began cleaning herself.

It was okay, though. When he sent Ginny a picture of the scene, she sent one back of her gorgeous, laughing face along with the message that she’d be back to see them both in the morning. 

Saving the picture to the folder that was—appropriately enough—titled “Favorites,” he couldn’t help but grin. If having this new feline friend around meant seeing more of Ginny, too, well, maybe he wouldn’t hate being a cat person.

 


	77. ficlet: i'll never stop (loving you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: PROMPTS!! I was LITERALLY about to post about how starved I am for new fic. Established relationship; a lazy off-season Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, established relationship, slightly edited
> 
> title: "Come Away With Me" by Norah Jones

Ginny, having spent most of her time in Southern California and Arizona for the past four years, wouldn’t say that she was used to waking up to the sound of rain on windowpanes. She was, however, very used to the sensation of waking up all tangled in Mike Lawson.

She was also used to waking up well before him. Mike may have left the game behind—and taken to retirement, or at least parts of it, like a duck to water—but Ginny had not. She was still in the habit of rising with the sun to get a run in, even in the offseason. If that meant she also got to come home just in time for Mike to finish up with making breakfast, that was her business. 

Today, though, Mike had bucked tradition. His hands skated lazily up and down her back, lips pressing into her hair. Ginny stretched against him and murmured, “What’re you doing up?”

His chuckle rumbled through her, raising goosebumps all along her bare arms. “It’s nearly nine, Gin.”

Ginny waited for her stomach to drop, for the urge to jump out of bed and into her sneakers to hit her, but it never came. She was too comfortable, too pleased with her exact place in the world to disturb it. 

So, she let herself curl closer to Mike, one smooth thigh gliding over his, and settle more firmly in his grip. “I think my run can wait.”

“Don’t wanna go for a cool 5k in the rain?” he murmured back. “Wimp.”

Too bonelessly content to properly school him, Ginny didn’t bother to even thump his chest. She did, however, let her fingers walk up its broad expanse. He was warm and firm, even if he had let some of his conditioning fall to the wayside since hanging up his cleats. 

“I don’t wanna go anywhere.”

“Then don’t.” Ginny lifted her face to Mike’s, and he gave her the first kiss of the day. She sighed into it, stretching like a flower toward the sun. Once he’d contented himself that she tasted the same as ever, he murmured right into her mouth, “It’s Sunday. There’s no reason to get out of bed at all.”

Ginny laughed but propped herself on an elbow to look down at him. “No?”

“Nah. Pretty sure we’ve got everything we need right here.” Mike looked fantastically smug as he grinned up at her, his hand trailing down her back to settle on the curve of her ass.

“What about breakfast?” 

“Fine. We can leave for breakfast,” he allowed. Far too easily if Ginny knew him at all. Sure enough, she was proven right when he surged up and rolled her beneath him. “Once we work up an appetite.”

 


	78. ficlet: and that's a start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Ginny's ready to buy a car. From one of Mike's dealerships. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, pre-relationship, car buying sucks, slightly edited

_ooh, nice. I went with “_ not _from one of Mike’s dealerships” for the grumpy Lawson of it all._

* * *

“You’re not starting for another five days, Baker,” Butch complained. “Do you really need to be looking at the scouting reports right now?”

Mike, personally, agreed. He generally supported with Ginny’s approach to her starts: there was no such thing as over-preparation. However, Butch had a point. She’d had an excellent outing today and should probably focus on the meal provided by clubhouse chefs to help her recoup, which was currently sitting neglected as she intently studied her tablet. 

Ginny, apparently though, agreed too. 

“I’m not,” she replied absently, though given the way her eyes were still trained on her tablet, none of her teammates had much reason to believe her. Not until she said, “I’m looking for a car.”

“A what?” 

The words were out of Mike’s mouth before he could really think about them.

Finally, her eyes lifted from the screen, meeting his. Her nose wrinkled. “A car, Lawson,” she enunciated, clear and slow like she thought his hearing was going. That earned a light chuckle from the remaining Padres, though most of them had blown through their dinners and already gone home to maximize on a night spent in their own houses. Ginny didn’t look particularly proud of the feat, but Blip more than made up for her placidity. 

“You know, they have ones with motors now, man. No more need to propel it with your feet.”

“The Flinstones?” Mike demanded, frowning down any more laughter from his team of traitors. “Really?”

“I figure you and Fred are of an age,” Blip replied airily, ambling off to his cubby so he could get home to his wife and the kids.

Mike let the car talk drop. For a while.

If, the following day, he made sure to get into the clubhouse early—so early that only one Padre could possibly be around—that was just to avoid more Stone Age jokes. 

“Hey, Lawson,” Ginny greeted as he walked into the weight room, no sign that she clocked his sour mood. “Do you think Arenado will still be on his hot streak when we go to Colorado?”

“I don’t know,” he groused, frowning at her. “Probably. Are you really going to buy a car?”

“I don’t know. Probably,” she parroted, nimbly folding herself in half to stretch out her hamstrings. 

“Baker.” Mike pointedly averted his eyes, though her ass in spandex was a work of art.

“What?” she rolled upright, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve had a lot of weird Uber drivers lately. Besides, I kind of miss having a car. There a problem with that?”

“No, of course not. But you know you don’t have to do all that research, right?”

Ginny squinted at him. “Did I miss the part where research is an intrinsic and infuriating part of the car buying experience?”

“It is,” he grudgingly allowed. "For people who aren’t friends with the owner of an entire network of dealerships.”

She laughed. “Is that why you’re being such a grump?”

“I’m not being a grump.”

“Sure.” Her agreement was clearly pure indulgence. Mike would’ve been more annoyed about it, but Ginny was grinning at him, inviting him in on her joke and it was hard to maintain annoyance in the face of that. “I’m still not buying a car from you, though.”

“Why not?”

“You make 20 times as much as I do, old man,” she said, conveniently forgetting her clutch Nike deal that made him and the rest of the team look like peasants. “You want my money, you can win it from me in poker.”

Mike was smart enough not to blurt that he’d  _give_  her whatever damn car she wanted. But, God did he want to. He wanted to give Ginny everything. 

“You make that sound like it’s actually hard,” he said instead, cramming down everything else the way he’d become so adept at since last September. She rolled her eyes and went back to stretching. Mike joined her, though he couldn’t resist getting one last word in.

“Okay, you don’t  _have_  to buy your car from me, but you do know I’ll help you, right?”  _With anything_  remained unsaid.

Her smile, when she looked over at him, was dazzling. “I know you’ve got my back, Mike.”

Hearing that out loud, admitted as easily as if Ginny was just telling him the time, was almost worth the months of denial, the tight control he’d exerted over himself since his desperate attempt at a trade fell through. Mike might not be able to be anything more than Ginny’s friend, teammate, and captain right now, but there were far worse places to be.

 


	79. ficlet: going to bed angry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: yayy for new writing!! for prompts: ginny and mike get in a fight about something stupid and then have makeup sex hehehe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, established relationship, angry sex, slightly edited
> 
> rating: Mature

_This is also for the other person who wanted some bawson make-up sex and is therefore a bit longer since I can definitely respect your priorities. Naturally, this is pretty nsfw_

* * *

The car ride back to Mike’s is eerily quiet. It practically thrums with the pressure of everything that's remaining unsaid. She’d thought about telling him to drop her off at her place, but much as she can’t quite bring herself to look him in the face—not without the desire to reach across the console and fucking throttle him, at least—she can’t find the desire to rattle around her condo, taking her frustration out on cabinet doors and the already spotless grout in her bathroom.  


Better to get this over with. Fight it out and move on.

Except, Mike doesn’t seem to agree. He continues not to say anything to her. Not when he pulls into the garage or when he stalks through the kitchen or even when Ginny huffs loudly and stomps up the stairs to shower alone for what feels like the first time in months. It's certainly the first time she’s entered Mike’s luxurious shower stall on her own without his warm bulk at her back or drawing her under the heavy spray.

When she comes back downstairs, hair damp and pajamas feeling too flimsy to be the armor she has a feeling she'll want, Mike has a plate waiting for her, but his own is empty. She doesn’t think twice about this until he’s done washing up and turns to leave her to eat alone. All without saying one fucking word to her.

Familiar anger wells up her throat.

“You shouldn’t’ve fucking pulled me,” she bites out at his retreating back. The words hit the chill—literally and figuratively—air of the kitchen and hang there, powerful enough to make Mike stop in his tracks, but apparently not good enough to make him look at her. Well. Ginny can change that. “I was dealing, and you let them give the game to some rookie who can’t find his ass with two hands.”

It’s true that the fact they’d lost today—a miserable loss that Ginny’s sure she could have done something to mitigate if she’d had the chance to pitch past the fifth—is probably doing more than its fair share in ratcheting up the tension between them, but it's only the tip of the iceberg. They've felt off all day. At this point, the way they’re each breathing is probably enough to set everything alight.

“You wanna talk about shouldn’ts, Ginny?” he spits through clenched teeth, finally turning to look her in the eye. She's not the only one who's angry “You shouldn’t fucking shake me off sixteen times in three innings.”  


“Then you shouldn’t ask for my changeup so often.”  


“I’ll call for whatever I damn well please. I’m the captain!”  


“And I’m the pitcher! I get to throw what I want.”  


“Which is exactly why you got pulled. It’s not the fucking Ginny Baker show. If you can’t listen to me—”  


“What, just because you’re fucking me now, I should just do everything you say?”  


By this point, any distance between them had been completely obliterated. Ginny jabs her finger at Mike’s solid chest as he scowls down at her. He doesn't even move, and it's enough to make her want to shake him.

“Shut the fuck up, Ginny,” he growls, just as one hand cuffs the back of her neck to hold her still as his mouth crashes into hers.  


“No,” she hisses, just to be an asshole. Which does nothing to stop her from kissing him back, giving as good as she gets. 

“Then turn the fuck around. I don’t even wanna look at you right now.”

Mike whirls her around before she comply, crowding her until the cool edge of the counter bites into her hips. She rocks back, her ass grinding against the growing evidence of his arousal. 

Apparently, Ginny’s not the only one who’s a little too into this argument. 

The swat to her ass stings more than usual, but it only serves to remind her that _this_ isn’t usual. She’s fucking pissed. She arches her back and cranes around until her teeth can scrape hard over the taut tendon between his shoulder and his neck, drawing a low grunt from Mike. It sends a visceral, vicious thrill through her, so she does it again.

“That’s enough,” he growls, threading his fingers into her hair and pulling her head back, hard enough to sting and make Ginny pant. 

His free hand works her shorts and underwear down, only just clearing her ass before that hand wedges itself between her thighs. Her knees nearly buckle at that first swipe, and she wants to deny that the high, keening sound echoing off all the glass and metal and marble is her, but she also knows better. 

“You like that? You like it when I’m a little mean to you?”   


The wetness already slicking down her thighs is answer enough, and the smirk Mike presses to her throat proves that he knows it.

“Shut the fuck up, Mike,” Ginny manages, though it’s not quite as forbidding as when he said it.  


He could let it go, take the high road when it’s clear he’s currently got the advantage, but he doesn’t. The clink of his belt and rasp of his zipper punctuates his smug, “No.”

Mike slides home, a slightly too rough thrust that steals Ginny’s words and breath and ability to even think. All she knows is how good he feels inside her. That and how god damn angry, how raw and hurt and _fucking furious_ , she still is. It washes through her, lighting her up even as pleasure wakes up every nerve ending from her toes to her fingertips. 

Ginny bites down on a groan and rocks back against Mike, using muscles she doesn’t have cause to utilize on the field to draw a reaction out of him.

He doesn’t disappoint, dropping his grip on her hair to palm her hip and anchor them together for a brief moment. His forehead drops to her shoulder, and something begins to soften in that well of roiling frustration. Until his fingers bite into her flesh and he begins to thrust, at least. 

Each stroke stokes the fire growing in her belly, driving her higher and higher, twining her anger with pleasure until there’s no telling the two apart. 

Still, Ginny’s thankful that it’s Mike who lets his lips land soft and gentle, no hint of teeth for once, against her pulse. He noses into her hair and his thrusts come at a less punishing pace. 

“You feel so good, Gin,” he murmurs, edging on sweet. “So perfect.”  


He very well knows she could say the same to him. Not literally; words are beyond her at the moment, especially when the rough pads of Mike’s fingers land unerringly on that bundle of nerves just above where he disappears inside her. A few quick swipes and she’s falling apart, happily dragging him down with her. 

Once they finally get themselves back under control—and their clothes roughly back in order—Ginny turns around so she can wrap her arms around Mike’s waist as she leans heavily against him. Quiet descends again. This time, it feels warmer.

Still.

“I’m still mad,” she says, though there’s not much conviction behind it.   


He laughs, one hand smoothing down her back. “Yeah, you’re not off the hook either.”

Not even twenty minutes ago, this would’ve sparked more fury from Ginny. Now, she just yawns.

“Okay. Can we fight about it in the morning, though?”  


“Sure, Gin. Let’s get you to bed.”  


For once—this evening, at least—Ginny sees nothing to argue with.

  



	80. ficlet: like a bond girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: ginny stops in to visit mike at his house to talk strategy and he is getting out of the pool and there is just a lot to look at

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, season 1 missing scene, slightly edited

Ginny tells herself that it’s not unusual to talk shop outside of the clubhouse. Just because no one's ever invited her to do it before, doesn't mean it's weird. They spend so much time at the park as it is, of course Mike’s not going to want to come in on a rare off day at home just to go over hitters with her. But he's also a good captain who's not going to leave her to flounder. It’s normal that he invited her over to do it at home instead.

Ginny tells herself this, and yet it hasn’t quite sunk in.

She tells herself not to gawk as Lawson’s housekeeper leads her through the place— Is that a portrait of  _himself_  hanging over the stairs? Yep. It is. And, seriously. What kind of human being owns foosball, air hockey, and pool tables? 

Mike Lawson apparently.

There isn’t time to formulate more opinions on the state of Mike’s glass and concrete bachelor pad, because Ginny’s being shown out into the backyard, which, surprise of surprises, is more concrete and glass. 

And a big ass pool. 

Casting her eyes around the various seating areas and coming up empty—is he back in the pool house?—it’s not until she hears the quiet  _splash_  that Ginny gives that pool more than a cursory glance. It’s a pool, what could be that interesting about it?

Except it’s apparently holding one Mike Lawson, which automatically moves it up a few or more notches in her estimation. And that’s something that Ginny is never, ever gonna admit to anyone ever because it’s one thing to harbor a crush on the captain of the San Diego Padres as a teenager, it’s entirely another to do it when he’s  _her_  captain.

“Hey, Baker,” he calls, pausing in his laps. “I’m almost done here. Go get settled and I’ll be over in a minute.”

Ginny shrugs and wanders over to the comfortable looking couch set up across the patio. If she sneaks glances at Mike’s powerful back as he cuts through the water, executing a neat flip turn when he nears the wall, she’ll deny it. If she were thinking more about self-preservation, she would've buried her nose in her tablet until Mike shows up at her side, ready to talk strategy and hopefully fully clothed. 

However, she's a little too distracted by the end of Mike's workout.

He heaves himself up onto the pool deck more limberly than she would’ve expected, but that thought is pushed to the back of her mind. All conscious thought is because that— Right there?  _That_  is her dripping wet, half-naked captain. Her dripping wet, half-naked captain clothed only in clinging swim trunks.

And he is headed right towards her. 

He’s saying something, but it filters through her ears dimly.

“You have trouble finding the place?”

Ginny swallows hard but raises a skeptical brow. “This aquarium? I’m pretty sure it’s visible from space.”

He grumbles as he pulls on the shirt conveniently tossed over the back of the couch, which clings damply to his chest and probably won’t do much to ease Ginny’s problems focusing. 

“No respect,” he mutters, coming around to flop down on the vacant cushion. Ginny draws her feet closer to herself, not that Mike seems to notice as he sprawls, thick thighs spread wide in a way that she really should not be noticing as much as she is.

“You can have some respect if you tell me how to get through this game with the Nats,” she replies, prim. As if that makes up for the gutter her mind is currently wallowing delightedly in.

He rolls his eyes but settles down to business without further complaint. 

If it takes much longer than usual to nail down an approach to her next start, neither of them mention it, too pleased to sit in the sunshine, talk some baseball, and, yeah, definitely enjoy the company.

 


	81. ficlet: unflinchingly rigid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ladyinredfics: The team thinks they’re jinxed and Starts doing increasingly nutty things to break it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, future fic, superstitions, slightly edited
> 
> title: The Office quote, "Those are the rules of jinx, and they are _unflinchingly rigid_."

The Padres, it had to be admitted, were in something of a rut.

That was Ginny’s opinion. With the bats as good as dead and even her turns on the mound strained, rut seemed like a pretty good word for the nine-game losing streak the Padres were on at the moment. Some of her more superstitious teammates, however, had a different take:

They were inxed. Cursed even.

Whatever it was, the best minds in the clubhouse were currently bent to the task of breaking their bad mojo.

“What if,” Stubbs said, “it’s the new on deck circles?”

This conjecture was met with a flurry of furious discussion and debate, one that Ginny observed with mounting bemusement. It wasn’t news to her that if a critical mass of baseball players was gathered, it was only a matter of time before talk turned to superstition. And when those ballplayers were in a slump, that time frame was drastically reduced. Still, it was like her teammates didn’t know how to talk or even think about anything else.

Ginny knew for a fact Blip’s Grand Master Flash shirt had been worn onto the field for at least three games, hidden away beneath his uniform in spite of MLB’s dress regulations. Livan had set up an altar in his stall, though Ginny hadn’t actually seen him pray to it. Dusty was convinced a team-wide ban on orange gatorade would do the trick, Butch hadn’t washed his hair in days, and Salvi was trying to convince the rest of the infield to put on their socks and shoes in some ridiculous order to shake the bad luck. 

Even Lawson had fallen into it. 

Not as hard as some of them, but he was captain; he had the power to put the whole sorry situation to bed with one well-timed speech, and he didn’t. Instead, Mike allowed the speculation and the paranoia to flourish, indulging the suspicions of madmen like it really could be Melky’s new walk up song that had thrown the team into shambles. 

Shambles that could apparently only be remedied by the big guns: Evelyn Sanders’ patented Slump Buster Tonic.

“All right, everyone make sure you drink your dose and get out for BP,” Mike called, watching his team take their slugs and head, shuddering, for the field.

Ginny refrained. And hung back, waiting until it was only her and Lawson around the vat of suspect liquid, bright green and smelling strongly of peppers.

“I thought you didn’t believe in ‘all that superstition bullshit,’” she muttered.

Mike shrugged, but not in dismissal. His lips were still twisted in disgust, though. Having once been subjected to Evelyn’s Slump Buster herself, Ginny would’ve felt more sympathy if he didn’t go on to say, “Usually I don’t, but—“

“Oh, don’t even start.”

“Don’t have to. Blip and Butch definitely got the ball rolling on their own.”

“And you let them.”

“Because they have a point. I haven’t gone 0-for-4 this often since my coach realized I’d never make it as a switch hitter.“

That made her grin. “You telling me there’s something—aside from play first—that Mike Lawson can’t do?”

“I’m getting better at first.”

Ginny’d allow the truth of that, however: “And yet we’re still in a rut.”

“We are,” he agreed. He jerked his head and they headed for the entrance to the field. Before they could push through the heavy double doors, though, Mike paused, and said, “You know, the only thing that’s actually changed is—”

“You can’t un-kiss me,” Ginny blurted.

Just like that, the wall between baseball and romance crumbled into so much dust. Evidently the threat of an honest to God curse was enough to override anything like compartmentalizing.

“I wouldn’t want to even if I could.” And even if he could undo that first kiss, pressed against Ginny’s waiting, eager mouth one night after a particularly satisfying win in LA, Mike was pretty sure all the ones that had followed made it a moot point. “Even if it means never getting another hit again.”

She rolled her eyes, but the pleased curl of her lips had her dimples making an appearance. “You’re gonna get another hit.”

“I wouldn’t care if I got to keep kissing you.” The thing was, she thought he might actually mean it.

Which was exactly what made her gaze go sharp and considering. It probably should’ve made him nervous, but Mike was too far gone to look back now.

“And what if you didn’t? Maybe I only kiss sluggers.”

In spite of the teasing tilt to her mouth, Mike could only stare in shock. Not get to kiss Ginny? When he’d only just begun to experience the pleasure of it?

That mouth curled even more, taking maybe a little too much pleasure in his discomfiture. “C’mon, captain,” she goaded, tangling her fingers in the front of his uniform to tug him tantalizingly close. Mike went, more than willing. “You’ve gotta lead by example, but I think you need the right incentive first.”

Her breath ghosted against his lips for a hot second, but before he could get a taste of that incentive, Ginny’s grip on his jersey disappeared and she spun away. 

“Baker!” he called, hating the desperate note in his voice. 

She paused in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder and grinning mischievously. “Don’t look so sad, Lawson. You’ll get your privileges back. Once you get a hit. Or go yard, and I’ll come up with something extra special.”

With that, she strode into the dugout, leaving her stunned captain behind her.

Thankfully, though, Mike didn’t remain dumbstruck for long. He went 3-for-4 with a two run homer to put the Padres in the lead for good. When asked after the game what had inspired his sudden production at the plate, he only commented that it was all about finding the right incentives.

 


	82. ficlet: how easy love can be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> edrakeford: Mike and Ginny daughter put his name down for career day, not as a ball player, but the greatest dad!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, AU, post-[easy as 1, 2, 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/24050265), slightly edited
> 
> title: "ABC" by the Jackson 5

_Hi, here’s a little sequel from[easy as 1, 2, 3](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F8475475%2Fchapters%2F24050265&t=MTBlMGEyMDY2ZmNkZWZjY2FlZjU2NTc1NjE0YTNjMGQ4ODU5ODhkOSwwOHRHMnhOUg%3D%3D&b=t%3Ak_ZQCyWiXU2jCRI122R5Dw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fmegaphonemonday.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F173398148485%2Fedrakeford-replied-to-your-post-hey-friends-i&m=0) because i’m clinically incapable of coming up with more children for Mike and/or Ginny_

* * *

Ginny was feeling pretty pleased with herself. Not only was her first year of teaching going remarkably well—sure, her gaggle of kindergartners was a handful, but she really did enjoy them all—but her first big classroom event was, she was pretty sure, going to go down in Career Day history. 

Not only had she gotten a firefighter, a video game designer, and a chef to come in and talk to their kids and classmates, she had secured the attendance bona fide major league ballplayer, too. 

A major league ballplayer who happened to be her boyfriend, true, but Mike Lawson was still a pretty big get. 

Ginny still wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with that. It was more than a little surreal. When she’d looked up from greeting Maddie at that parent-teacher conference in October and been subjected to the sight of Mike Lawson, casual in flannel and a leather jacket, she never would’ve expected to find herself here a bare four months later. 

Not that she was exactly sure where “here” was.

She and Mike were definitely dating, had even gotten to spend a few nights together, but only when Maddie was safely at a sleepover herself. Both adults were too conscious of the consequences of springing their relationship on the girl only for it go wrong somewhere down the line.

If Ginny had any say, however, things would only be going right. 

However, that couldn’t happen if she blew their cover. Which was, unfortunately, a more difficult task than she liked to admit. It wasn’t entirely her fault though; Mike knew exactly how much she liked that plum shirt of his. 

Proving exactly that, he caught her eye and had the audacity to wink. 

Ginny schooled her expression and turned her attention back to Mrs. Mathers, who was just finishing up passing out plastic San Diego Fire Department badges to the entire class.

“All right everyone,” Ginny said, in her best responsible adult voice, “what do we say to Jack’s mom?”

On cue, a chorus of “Thank yous!” rang through the room. 

“Very good! Now, why don’t we all settle down for our last guest, Mr. Lawson. Maddie, would you like to introduce your dad?”

Nodding eagerly, the little girl bounded to her feet and rushed to Mike’s side. She reached up for his hand and didn’t let go for her entire speech.

“This is my dad. He makes the best grilled cheeses and knows how to make a kite fly on the first try and where to find all the coolest frogs in the park.”

This seemed like more than enough information for an audience of six-year-olds, who all perked up at the mention of frogs. For their teacher, while endearing, it wasn’t quite to the point. 

“That’s very cool, Maddie,” Ginny said, darting a grinning glance at Mike who was looking entirely smitten. “Now, why don’t you tell us about your dad’s job?”

“That is his job.”

“I think—”

“That’s his job!” Maddie shouted, stomping her little foot in frustration. “He’s the very best dad in the world!”

Thankfully, she quieted when the hand of the very best dad in the world landed right on top of her head. She tilted back to look up at him, and Ginny had to raise a hand to her mouth to cover her giggle. 

“Thanks, Mads,” Mike drawled, giving his daughter a pat on the back, “but I’ll take it from here.”

“Okay, daddy. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” 

He said it to Maddie, but his gaze definitely lifted to Ginny and lingered, making her breath catch in her throat. 

He couldn’t mean— No. Definitely not. Well... Maybe?

It wasn’t until her heart had stopped its jackrabbit thrum, with Mike in the middle of telling her kindergartners all about hitting home runs, that Ginny realized something. She was the teacher. If she wanted Mike to explain himself, all she had to do was ask him to stay after class. And if his answer was satisfactory, she might even ask him for a practical demonstration. Maybe it would make him a teacher’s pet, but Ginny even had a feeling he wouldn’t mind.

 


	83. ficlet: have i told you lately

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> flutter-bi: It occured to me that it's probably easier for you to answer a prompt this way, versus a comment on your post. So, prompt: Ginny or Mike admits to the other that they're in love. The problem? They're not actually dating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, future fic, pre-relationship, slightly edited
> 
> title: "Have I Told You Lately That I Love You?" by Rod Stewart

_Either works! p.s. if you’re interested in a longer fic that features this, check out[a new hope](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F12614604%2Fchapters%2F28760388&t=MTc3NTQ4NDBkOTljZTM5Zjk3YjViOWM0NGRmNzRhZDNmZjY0ZDExOSw0T0pNcFZEaA%3D%3D&b=t%3Ak_ZQCyWiXU2jCRI122R5Dw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fmegaphonemonday.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F173399913813%2Fit-occured-to-me-that-its-probably-easier-for-you&m=0)_!

* * *

 ****Mike was fully aware that this thing he had planned probably wasn’t fair of him.

He was aware that Ginny had decided that they weren’t talking about this as long as they were teammates, as they were contractually obligated to be for at least the next year. But he was also aware that every day that went by that he didn’t give voice to the truth burning a hole into his very being, he came closer to never getting a chance to say it at all. 

Was it overdramatic to imply that he might  _die_  if he didn’t get this off his chest? Yeah, but what about Mike’s life wasn’t more than a little overdramatic?

So, yeah. Mike knew he wasn’t being fair. 

And yet, here he was.

Then again, maybe sticking around after Ginny’s housewarming to help her clean up made up for some of the underhandedness. At the very least, she’d have a cupboard full of clean dishes by the end of the night. 

He hoped she’d have more.

Ginny came bustling back into the kitchen, her bag full of empties apparently deposited in the recycling. She leaned against the counter beside Mike, leaning companionably into him. Her head dropped to his shoulder and he had to fight the urge to do something stupid. 

“Thanks for helping,” she sighed. 

Mike chanced a look down at her, took in the shadowy curve of her eyelashes against her cheeks, the rosy blush of her perfect lips. Which was to say nothing of the sweet press of her against his side.

“Happy to,” he murmured.

A smile spread across her face, and her eyes opened. Brown and sparkling, they were eyes he’d looked into more times than he could count but would likely never get tired of. “That’s why you’re my favorite, old man,” she grinned, like that wasn’t some earth-shattering, world-upending pronouncement to make. Much as the confession rattled Mike, knocking into his heart and wedging itself there for later perusal, Ginny said it easily, picking up a towel to start drying. “I mean, no one else offered to even take out the trash as they went.”

He snorted. It was either that or blurt out his own confession. 

They finished the dishes in companionable silence, Ginny humming tunelessly—he was pretty sure that wasn’t Katy Perry, but it was hard to tell—as she fell into a rhythm, her shoulder bumping against his arm every so often. Mike couldn’t help but picture a future in which this wasn’t a big deal, in which standing at the kitchen sink with Ginny was just what happened every day. 

And every day, he’d get to take her to bed and tell her he loved her. Without psyching himself up to do it.

Eventually, he found himself standing on her front porch, Ginny hanging off the front door as her eyes twinkled up at him, her curls gone a little frizzy in the damp, ocean air. She looked gorgeous. 

As Mike stared down at her, cementing the image in his mind, she opened her mouth and oh, God, he needed to get this out—

“I love you.”

So much for the grand, romantic speech he’d been mentally writing since the day he decided his feelings were real enough to warrant a trade. Still, it felt good to finally say the words, to let them ring in the air and watch Ginny hear them for the first time. 

She blinked, her mouth pulling into a faint frown. Which, to be clear, was not the reaction Mike had imagined so very often.

“You love me?”

Mike swallowed. “I really do.”

“Mike, we’re still—”

“I know,” he assured her. “But one day we won’t be. And I wanted you to know.”

Ginny took this in, mulling it over for a long moment. Mike’s heart remained lodged in his throat, though he guessed it was a good thing that she hadn’t started throwing things at him and chasing him from the house. After a long, long moment, she nodded. Reflexively, he nodded back.

Another smile curled across her lips, proving exactly how helpless Mike was in the face of it. In the face of Ginny.

She released her grip on the door, found his hand with hers, and stepped in close to him. Slow enough that Mike was sure the moment would spin out in glorious detail when he replayed it for himself later on, Ginny leaned in. Her lips didn’t land where he wanted, but she was so close, right on the corner of his mouth, hers soft and warm and dry against his skin. If Mike had turned to the side a bare inch, he’d be kissing Ginny Baker. 

It’s probably a good thing he didn’t.

Especially since she pulled away and didn’t seem to have any intention of inviting him back inside.

Mike was sure that he looked completely thunderstruck, but Ginny had the grace not to look smug about it.

“And now I know,” she murmured, giving his hand one last squeeze. “Goodnight, Mike.”

“Night, Ginny.”

He was nearly home when his phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t think to look at it until he was already in bed. 

**Ginny Baker**   
_thanks again for your help  
tonight, old man_

_and just in case you didn’t_  
already know  


_i love you, too._

Needless to say, Mike fell asleep with a wide grin on his face. 

Well, once he convinced himself not to drive all the way back to Ginny’s place, he did. 

 


	84. ficlet: of all the titles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: For the prompt thingy- what about Mike talking about his father? Maybe reconnecting because his kid is going to be born? Maybe Ginny pushing him too? Or a competitive workout against each other? Ginny talking mike into trying yoga?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, future fic, pregnancy, slightly edited
> 
> title: Ken Norton quote, " _Of all the titles_ I’ve been privileged to have, ‘Dad’ has always been the best."

_P.S. If you want some bawson doing yoga, you can check out this[(still) untitled fic](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F8475475%2Fchapters%2F19420258&t=YzdlMzQyZDVkMjg5YjY4Njc0ZTVmMDgyZjQ3YmU1ZTkxOTZkNzZlOSx0eEhJUEtHWg%3D%3D&b=t%3Ak_ZQCyWiXU2jCRI122R5Dw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fmegaphonemonday.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F173401633726%2Ffor-the-prompt-thingy-what-about-mike-talking&m=0). (Which, semi-fun fact, was only my second prompt fill for Pitch!)_

* * *

For what could very well have been the twentieth time of the night, Mike collapsed on the couch beside Ginny only to shove to his feet a bare minute later to take up his well-worn pacing circuit. His hair stood on end and his beard was in disarray. Not, Ginny was displeased to note, from anything she'd done, however. He’d tugged and raked his fingers through his hair over and over as he paced, sat, stood, and generally threatened to drive his wife crazy. 

If she were less of a blimp, she’d trail after him, but growing a human was hard work, and Mike wasn’t quite so lost in his thoughts of his father—and the meeting they’d arranged for the morning—that he didn’t stop and hover, braced to catch her in case she suddenly gave into gravity and tumbled to the ground, every time Ginny so much as shifted her weight. So, she left him to his worrying and patiently waited him out. 

Well, she had been patient. Now was the time for tough love.

“You’re making me dizzy,” Ginny complained, though she smiled gently enough when Mike whirled on her, looking frazzled. “You’re lucky the morning sickness stopped last month.”

Apologetically, he came back to the couch and sat beside her. To encourage him to stay there, Ginny coaxed him down until his head was cradled in her lap. It had to share the space with her ever-expanding belly, but for now, there was still enough room for him. She set herself the task of getting his beard and hair back in order, letting her fingers trail across his scalp until his eyes fluttered shut and he let out a small, contented sound. 

“Better?”

Mike nodded, forehead pressed against her stomach. If he hadn’t insisted on talking to the bump ever since it first popped into the world, Ginny would’ve found it weird. Now, she found it weird but was so used to the feeling, she could roll with it.

“I still don’t know if I should go through with it,” he admitted, darting a glance up to her and looking so vulnerable Ginny's heart throbbed for him and the little boy he'd been. “I haven’t seen him since I was ten.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“And it’s not like he ever reached out. I had to do it. Because of…”

He trailed off, but the tender hand he laid on her belly spoke volumes.

“That doesn’t mean you have to go through with meeting him,” Ginny soothed even as she knew there was little chance Mike would back out now. This was something that he needed to do.

“So you think I shouldn’t?”

“Mike, I am not the person you want to ask about parental relationships. Ask Blip or Ev. Their families are disgustingly well adjusted.” That earned a chuckle, weak as it was, so Ginny grinned down at him. “Whatever you decide, though, you’re going to be a great dad, and I’m gonna back you no matter what.”

He looked a little misty as he asked, “Even if I make you come with me?”

“Even then, old man.”

The crease between his brow smoothed out, and his smile as he gazed up at her was more than a little awed. It wasn’t the first time Mike looked at Ginny exactly like that, and she hoped to God it wouldn’t be the last.

(She didn’t need to worry on that front. Mike would gladly look at Ginny like she hung the moon every minute of the rest of their lives. Without her asking, even.) 

“You’re good to me, rookie. Now get down here so I can kiss you.”

Ginny happily obliged. As much as she could when her pregnant belly was in the way, at least.

 


	85. ficlet: i'd be inclined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: How about impromptu karaoke show off? Or lip sync battle for the prompt thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, team dynamics, pre-relationship, slightly edited
> 
> title: "Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond

For someone who’d begged and pleaded and probably blackmailed to get the team out to an honest to God karaoke bar, Dusty Voorhies couldn’t carry a tune if it came in a bucket. Hell, he could barely even pick up a tune, let alone carry it across the finish line. 

Which, unfortunately, was not enough to stop him from belting out some Cher at the top of his lungs. 

“I don’t believe I’m strong enough, no!” he screeched to the raucous cheers of his teammates and the bar in general. 

There really was no accounting for taste. 

Mike shook his head and promised himself that no matter what happened, he wasn’t getting up on that stage.

If only everyone else got the memo.

“So, what’re you singing, captain?” 

Ginny slid into the booth next to him. Maybe it was because the other bench was full up, but Mike liked to think that even if it were empty, she’d still choose to sit next to him. That would be a comforting thought if she weren’t currently looking at him like she actually expected an answer to her ridiculous question.

He just snorted. 

His pitcher’s face crumpled in confusion, and across the table, Blip took pity on her. 

“Lawson doesn’t karaoke.”

“You guys do this often enough that he’s got a policy for it?”

“We’d do it more often if Dusty got his way.”

Intrigued, Ginny’s gaze darted between Mike and Blip. “How often?”

“At least every month.”

She laughed, bright and nearly loud enough to drown out the Britney Spears track Hinkley and Melky were butchering. Once she got herself back under control, Ginny turned back to Mike.

“So, what’re you singing?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not.”

“Oh, come on,” she wheedled, which probably shouldn’t have been so effective. Mike made the mistake of making eye contact with Blip for support, but his center fielder only looked equal parts amused and worried. If that weren’t his go-to expression whenever he saw Ginny and Mike together, maybe it would’ve packed more punch. “If I have to, you do, too.”

“Not how this works, Baker.”

Ginny’s lips pursed, but she didn’t push it. Not immediately, at least. It wasn’t until she’d gotten through her surprisingly tuneful Whitney Houston homage—she couldn’t even hum Katy Perry, but the actual Queen of the Night didn’t pose any problems—she didn’t bound off the stage and back to her seat. Which Mike totally hadn’t saved from Sonny’s fat ass. 

Instead, she hung off the mic stand, grinning conspiratorially out at the audience, Padres and locals alike.

“Ladies and gentleman, we’re now in for a treat tonight,” she teased, playing the room like a finely tuned fiddle. “Making what I’m told is his karaoke debut, captain of the Padres, number 36, Mike Lawson!”

The bar broke into applause, none more enthusiastic than the little sneak who’d brought it about. Of course, Blip and Javanes and the rest of the guys chivvied him out of the booth, propelled him up to the tiny stage where Ginny stood waiting. Mike dragged his feet, but really, there was no way he was willing to disappoint that eager, ridiculous smile.

Ginny handed off the mic and went to rejoin the audience.

“No, no,” he muttered, slinging an arm around her shoulders even as the first familiar chords began to play. “You got me into this, so you’re staying up here.”

Her arm slipped around his back without any argument, and in spite of his current predicament, Mike reflected on how right it felt pressed there.

When the words finally appeared on screen, Mike let him get lost in the song he’d heard in every ballpark across the country. By the time it was done, the whole bar had joined in, a rousing chorus echoing back, “So good! So good!” and he could admit that it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever done. He just hoped no one got it on video.

Then again, if someone had happened to capture the moment—those three and a half minutes where he’d had Ginny tucked against his side, laughing as she sang about hands, touching hands and the good times seeming good—that wouldn’t be the worst thing, either.

 


	86. ficlet: cut out the middleman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: prompt: one of the two is in an accident and the other gets a call from the hospital?
> 
> and
> 
> anonymous: Mike gets hurt during the season but not in the stadium, a car accident maybe? And Ginny shows up at the hospital distraught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, future fic, hospitals, slightly edited
> 
> title: The Office quote, "You know what, um, do yourself a favor and just keep me as his contact and I will call the hospital. _Cut out the middleman_."

_this is apparently on everyone’s minds because someone else sent in: Mike gets hurt during the season but not in the stadium, a car accident maybe? And Ginny shows up at the hospital distraught_

_I’ve got one fic that goes along these lines ([the future ain’t what it used to be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13062468)) and there are shades of this in [hashtag blessed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11877273), but here’s something different._

* * *

When Ginny got the call from San Diego Memorial alerting her to the fact that a patient—one Mike Lawson—had been admitted and as his emergency contact, she was being informed, she went into autopilot. Immediately, before the words had fully sunk in, she was whirling through her condo, collecting her wallet and keys and searching frantically for her phone until she realized it was still cradled between her ear and shoulder.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be right there,” she interrupted, unable to listen and stay put for a second longer. Ginny hung up without waiting for a response. 

She was already out the door and in the car. 

It wasn’t until she was practically running through the halls of the hospital, having made the briefest of pitstops at the front desk to find out where the hell Lawson was, that she had a chance to actually wonder what was going on. 

Why was Mike in the fucking hospital? Had something happened? God, had he been in some kind of accident? What was she going to find in room 1427? Her captain in traction? He was supposed to have one last season, was that in danger? 

It couldn’t be. Ginny’d been counting on these next eight months—more if the postseason came into play. She needed to get used to the idea of a Padres team without Mike at the helm. Without Mike coaching her through her starts, without Mike on the bench— Without Mike on her side.

Which felt like an incredibly selfish thought to have as she skidded to a stop outside his hospital room. 

Just as she forced herself to reach out for the handle to confront whatever scene was waiting inside, the door opened. A nurse stepped out. 

She seemed a bit surprised to see Ginny but still maintained a professional expression. 

“How is he?” Ginny blurted. If she could brace herself, maybe she’d handle it better.

The nurse smiled. “He’s a little groggy from the meds, but he’s already awake, which is a good sign. Hopefully, we can get him discharged in a day or two.”

“Awake? He was unconscious?” Mike had had so many concussions in his time. If this was another head injury—

“Yes, but—”

Ginny would apologize later, but she brushed past the nurse and her explanation. She needed to see Mike. Immediately and before she could build up any more anxiety in her mind. There was already more than enough of that.

She rushed up to him, picking up his hand as she collapsed into the chair pulled up to the side of his bed. His eyelashes fluttered and his fingers curled into hers. It was enough to loosen the grip of panic, dulling the sharp, tingling awareness Ginny had of her every breath and heartbeat. 

“Mike, what happened?”

“Baker?” he replied, blinking blearily. 

“Yeah, old man. It’s me. What happened?”

He didn’t answer, but when his gaze swam into focus and landed on her, a soft, beaming grin bloomed to life. His grip on her hand tightened. If that weren’t enough, he dragged her hand up to his grin and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. 

“Mike—”

“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he murmured against her skin. “We can blame it on the anesthesia.”

“Only if you tell me what the anesthesia was for.”

He looked like he wanted to dodge the question for a third time, but Ginny pinned him with a hard stare. In spite of the way her pulse continued to thrum and the butterflies in her stomach had yet to settle.

“Had to get my appendix out,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze. 

“Oh my God! I thought you were actually hurt!”

“I mean, they did cut me open.”

“Shut up.” And then, shyer, “I’m your emergency contact?” Ginny laughed a little. It was that or give into the tears she could already feel pooling against her lashes. She'd be more ashamed, but today had already been something of a wild ride.

“Who else would be?” he asked, reaching up to wipe away the moisture so, so tenderly. It only made her want to cry all the more. “C’mon, Ginny. You know there’s no crying in baseball.”

“Good thing I left my glove at home,” she sniffled. Mike’s hand didn’t leave her cheek, so she leaned gratefully into his warm palm. Ginny even reached up to hold it in place, even though he didn’t seem all that inclined to pull away.

Well, good. Because she had no intention of letting him go.

 


	87. ficlet: get out of the kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> osmarinamo: Hiya. I’ve been racking my brain for days - how about Mike and Ginny do everyday things together like the laundry, but of course it ends up sexy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, established relationships, domestic bliss, slightly edited

_I went cooking because Mike Lawson cooking is… it’s just… yeah._

* * *

“Need any help?”

Mike hummed in thought as he continued to dice garlic. An extra pair of hands as he prepared this carbonara would be nice, but when those hands belonged to Ginny Baker, he’d probably be better off working alone. 

(How she managed to be such a disaster in the kitchen when she’d lived on her own since she was 18 was a mystery.)

But did he actually want to tell her that? 

After all, telling Ginny not to do something, whether it was for her own benefit or not, had never worked out. She was stubborn as all hell, especially when someone told her no. 

Still, Mike tried his luck.

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“Good.”

He laughed. “Then why’d you even ask?”

“‘Cause I’m a guest and I’m supposed to,” she replied, easily enough that Mike could practically hear her shrug. “Guest” was maybe, probably underselling it, but since Ginny had stubbornly refused to move in, he supposed it wasn’t inaccurate.

Mike added the garlic to the already frying pancetta and finally turned to face his girlfriend sitting across the island, who was apparently on something of an honest kick today. Honest and entirely frank if the way her gaze raked up his form, hot and predatory, was any indicator.  

He raised an inviting brow. “Is that what you’re supposed to do as my guest? Offer help with no intention of giving it?”

Ginny grinned. “That’s the idea.”

“You’re terrible.”

“You love me.”

“I do,” he agreed. 

“Good.” Ginny’s grin morphed into something far sweeter. Mike wished the kitchen island wasn’t separating them. Apparently, she agreed. 

Heedless of the scattered cooking utensils and ingredients, Ginny boosted herself onto the counter and crawled across it until she reached Mike. Using his shoulders to steady herself, fingers curling around the back of his neck and playing with his hair while she was at it, she planted herself right in front of him. 

“What’re you doing?” he asked, even as his hands skated up and down her sides 

“Helping. Gotta earn my keep, right?” she purred, tugging him closer, her ankles crossing just below his ass. 

Whether or not Ginny’s brand of help was all that beneficial was a matter of some debate. On the one hand, their dinner definitely burned. On the other, they were pretty pleasantly distracted to notice until the smoke detector went off.

 


	88. ficlet: lose all my senses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bfox1973: oops, that wasn’t supposed to happen yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, pre-relationship, slightly edited
> 
> title: "Oops!... I Did It Again" by Britney Spears

“I should get going,” she yawned, stretching her arms over her head and flashing Mike a tantalizing peek of the smooth, brown strip of skin above the waistband of her leggings. “See you tomorrow?”

“Unless I’m still in this food coma.”

In spite of his lethargy, Mike pushed himself to his feet as Ginny did. Spending the rest of his evening sprawled out on his couch was less appealing if he had to do it alone. He also wasn’t a fucking animal. He knew to walk a guest to the door.

If Mike really just wanted to milk these last few moments of the night with Ginny for all they were worth, that didn’t mean he didn’t also have manners.

“You’re looking pretty spry for the comatose,” she said, giving him a quick once-over.

His chest didn’t puff out in pride, but he was aware that his t-shirt’s sleeves felt a little tighter than usual as his biceps flexed for her inspection.

“I’m a god damn medical marvel.”

She laughed. “Night, old man.”

“Night, rookie,” he returned, dropping a kiss to her upturned mouth and ushering her out the door.

It wasn’t until the doorbell rang a full three minutes later and Mike opened that door to a wide-eyed Ginny, her fingers pressed disbelievingly to her lips, that he even realized what he’d done. 

Time seemed to stand still. The bottom of his stomach dropped straight to his toes.

He’d just kissed Ginny Baker. 

Fuck. 

“I—“

Actually, he had no clue what to say.

Her hand dropped away, but she looked no less struck. “You weren’t supposed to do that yet.”

Mike swallowed, searched for something to say aside from, “No. I wasn’t.”

Ginny stepped back in, and it took so much god damn effort not to pull her right to his side so he could do it again. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? 

“Mike, you weren’t supposed to do that yet _,_ “ she repeated significantly.

“I know,” he said, still too stunned to do anything other than agree. And grovel, if necessary. “I’m sorry.”

Jesus, he’d ruined everything, hadn’t he? All because he’d forgotten himself and given into his most frequent daydream.

“Don’t be sorry!” she hissed, pushing the door shut. That was probably a good call. Cut off any sight lines from prying eyes. His neighbors were pretty accustomed to his comings and goings, but you never knew who was watching. What if someone had seen? What if someone had a picture? God, he could just imagine the uproar.

Mike’s jumbled, frazzled thoughts ground to a screeching halt when Ginny’s fingers tangled in his belt loops and tugged him forward. Her face tilted up to his, she searched his eyes for a long moment before a corner of her mouth quirked up.

"Just promise you won’t stop.”

Then, her lips were on his and Mike was kissing Ginny once again.

Only this time, it was on purpose. And this time, Mike had no intention of apologizing. Given the way she sighed into his mouth, sweeter than he ever could have imagined, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t mind.

 


	89. ficlet: all this nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Prompt: Mike realizing/coming to terms with the negative side of Gin-sanity. Maybe the people who aren't so wild about a woman playing with men?Either pre-relationship or established.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, pre-relationship, what is an ending?, slightly edited
> 
> title: quote from _You've Got Mail_ , "The odd thing about this form of communication is that you're more likely to talk about nothing than something. But I just want to say that _all this nothing_ has meant more to me than so many somethings."

“You know it’s a federal crime to open someone else’s mail, right?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Clearly you were just about to get to it,” he snarked, gesturing at the pile that’d migrated from the Omni to Ginny’s new condo and only ever seemed to grow. The letters and packages, all from the eager masses of the Gin-sane, had spilled out of the bankers boxes and onto what was meant to be her dining room table. Aside from her housewarming, Mike had never once seen that table clear of the miscellany of Ginny Baker’s life. 

He loved it.

Anyway, so what if he was being nosy? Sometimes, it felt like pulling teeth getting his pitcher to open up to him, especially since last fall and the whole “trying to get himself traded rather than fuck up her career” debacle. Maybe this new status quo was safer for them both, but, God, did Mike hate it. 

“At least wait until the pile gets so out of hand it threatens to take over and smother me,” she muttered, padding into the dining room. “Besides, you promised to help me prep for the All-Star Game.”

He waved her off. “The American League can wait. Your fans, however, would be so disappointed to learn their idol—”

“Oh, shut up.” Nonetheless, Ginny cast an eye over the mess of mail, worrying her bottom lip. “If I let you open one letter, will that satisfy you?”

“Ten,” he countered. Ten wouldn’t even make a dent.

“Five.”

“Deal.”

As he’d hoped—he wasn’t proud of it, but Mike was going to weasel more time out of Ginny any way he could—once they got started, she quickly warmed to the activity. She read over the childish scrawls from some of her younger fans and carefully smoothed out any pictures that might have been creased en route. She even insisted on picking which letters to open, almost always going for the ones with bright, sparkly stickers that coated Mike in a fine sheen of glitter. 

It wasn’t until he broke the seal on the sixth letter, Ginny too absorbed in the long account from a softball team in Kansas to notice he was pushing his limits, that Mike realized there was maybe a reason aside from sheer volume for her piles of unread mail. 

A cold, creeping dread settled over him as he read, forcing himself to the conclusion of the awful screed in spite of the roiling in his gut it inspired. His eyes flicked between the letter itself, the innocuous envelope it arrived in, and the still waiting crush of fan mail. How many more like this were in those boxes,  were spread across her table, just waiting for her to read them?

“What’s it say?”

Ginny’s quiet, resigned question broke into his speeding, raging thoughts. He swallowed it down, shoved the cleanly typed letter—weren’t these kinds of things meant to be made with chopped up magazine pages? High gloss paper spelling out all kinds of hateful shit—back in its envelope, and tucked the whole, disgusting thing into his back pocket. 

“Nothing.” 

“Mike,” she sighed. One look at her, and he knew this wasn’t the first time this had happened. Only, he hadn't been there to keep her from reading it first. He’d been aware, in a dim, vague sense, that Ginny’d had a security detail her first few weeks in the league, but those large, intimidating presences had disappeared by July. Naively, he’d assumed that meant she didn’t need protecting. Not off the field, at least.

How stupid could he have been?

“It’s nothing, Baker,” he repeated. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Her gaze turned a touch pitying.  _Poor, stupid man_ , it seemed to say,  _that you can even think that_. “Pretty sure I’m exactly the person who needs to worry about it.”

There wasn’t much Mike could say to that.

Ginny smiled, which he was sure she wouldn’t have if he’d told her what that awful letter said, and stood from the table. “C’mon, old man. You told me there’s a trick to pitching to Mike Trout, and I wanna hear it.”

He took the change in topics for what it was, a lifeline, and stood himself. “What makes you think any skip’s gonna let you pitch to Mike Trout after your All-Star performance last year?”

Following Ginny out onto her patio, he kept the chatter light and easy and focused on the game. She probably saw straight through him to the section of his mind occupied with calculating how hard it’d be to track down whoever’d sent the letter and knocking his fucking teeth in, but she played along nonetheless. And she played the game much better than he did, cracking jokes and teasing him like there wasn’t something half a step shy of a death threat burning a hole in Mike’s pocket.

It wasn’t until he was leaving, though it felt strange to abandon Ginny to fend for herself with this newfound information of his, that Mike brought it up again. 

Or tried to.

“You know if it ever gets—”

“It’s nothing,” she said, corner of her mouth ticking up like she was enjoying a good joke. “Nothing you need to worry about, at least.”

“Cute,” he deadpanned. Of course she’d try to use his own words against him. “Wrong, but cute.”

She shrugged and shifted uncertainly on her feet. “’M all good, Lawson.”

“I know you are,” Mike replied gruffly. “But if you’re ever not. I’m, y’know— I’m here.”

“I do know.” Then, softer though not quite vulnerable, “Thanks.”

“Any time, Ginny.”

Mike satisfied himself that she was actually smiling as she shut the door on him. For tonight, it was enough. 

Tomorrow, however, was a whole new day. And tomorrow, he was going to make sure this bullshit never happened again.

 


	90. ficlet: worth the effort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: Bawson on their first official date but before they make an announcement or anything for the prompt thing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, first dates are awful, i don't make the rules, slightly edited
> 
> title: Jacki Weaver quote, "I believe in sex on a first date. Otherwise, how do you know if a second date is _worth the effort_?"

Ginny fidgeted with her napkin, alternately smoothing and crumpling it against the fluttery skirt of her dress until it was a wrung out mess. 

She could certainly sympathize.

Across the table, Mike looked just as uncomfortable as she felt. He’d put on an actual suit, which Ginny had never seen him for anything less than a red carpet event. She supposed she should be flattered—and she definitely admired the fit across his shoulders and chest—but mostly, she missed the way he looked in worn flannel or ratty t-shirts.

That, she was pretty sure though, was not the kind of thought to be having on a first date.

Which— Yeah.

It was weird. 

It was  _weird_  being on a date with Mike Lawson. Familiar and foreign all at once. They’d eaten God only knew how many dinners together in the past three years, but call it a date—within an hour of officially retiring, he’d actually said the words, “Can I take you out on a date?”—and suddenly it was like they were back in middle school, unsure of how to talk to each other.

Maybe if any of it was even remotely close to what Ginny’d spent not an insignificant portion of her adult life, to say nothing of her time in the majors, imagining, it wouldn’t be quite so strange. But it definitely wasn’t.

Here was the thing. She was no stranger to the reality of Mike’s past experience with women. She could even respect it. However, if someone were to ask her now what it was like to be on the receiving end of the Mike Lawson Experience, Ginny would have to say she had no idea. His trademark charm was nowhere to be seen. That devastating grin baseball groupies the country over had gushed over hadn’t made an appearance. She didn’t want to call it a disappointment, not yet, but—

She reached for her water glass, but she’d already drained it. 

Mike eyed her, mouth pulled down in a frown. “You wanna get out of here?”

“We haven’t even ordered food yet,” Ginny protested. Maybe the night was off to a slow start, but that didn’t mean she wanted it to end.

“I’ve got food at home. I’ll make you that pasta salad you like.”

In addition to Mike’s pasta salad, they found fresh strawberries and a six-pack in his refrigerator and retired to the couch to consume them as  _Bull Durham_  played on TV. Mike’s jacket and tie had been ditched and a pair of too-long sweats dug up for Ginny. 

They didn’t even have to make it through half of the six-pack, though, for the rest of their clothes to come off. Out of the stilted, formal setting of the restaurant, tangled together on the couch without the last barrier of Mike's employment with the San Diego Padres standing in their way, it was too much to ask Mike and Ginny to keep their hands off each other.

It hardly mattered who kissed the other, whose hands rucked up under clothes to find skin, who eventually came panting and sated, first. All that mattered was they did it together. 

And then they did it a few more times to really get the hang of it.

“I don’t think we’re cut out for dating,” Ginny admitted into the quiet living room. The movie had ended sometime between their second and third rounds, but neither of them had bothered to find the remote to turn it off. 

Beneath her, Mike went still. He managed to almost sound casual as he asked, “Oh?”

She pressed a kiss to his bare chest, fingers trailing through the sparse hair there. She knew he'd landscaped for the Body Issue, but it was nice to have the confirmation. “Nope. You’re already my best friend. I’m already in love with you. What’s the point in going out to expensive restaurants for awkward small talk like we don’t already know everything about each other?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” he allowed after a long moment, tension leaking from his frame. “For the record, I’m in love with you, too.”

Ginny grinned. That was yet another thing she already knew, but it was nice to hear it out of his mouth. 

“Good. So, no more dates for us?”

“Not a chance,” he laughed. “No way I’m giving up the future opportunity to show off how high above my weight class I’m hitting. But we can skip all the awkward small talk if that makes you feel better.”

“Fine. Just as long as this,” she said, stretching up to kiss him again, her legs twining between his, “keeps happening, too.”

“No worries there, Gin,” Mike assured her, rolling until she was safely pinned beneath his bulk. “I think we’ll keep at this for a long, long time.” 

 


	91. ficlet: the one, the only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: i know there are a ton of these ficlets already but how about mike watching ginny dance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags: short fill, kicking my brain until something falls out, ficlet, pre-relationship, Evelyn knows all, slightly edited
> 
> title: quote from _Magic Mike_ , "Will you welcome to the stage, _the one, the only_... Magic Mike!"

_You’re very right that there are lots of fics out there with this; I’ve written more than a few of them myself. So, I hope you don’t mind that I took the chance for a role reversal, as it were._

* * *

“Damn.” Evelyn punctuated her curse with a low, impressed whistle. In another life, she was probably a very well dressed frat boy. “Mike’s got  _rhythm_. Who’d’ve thought?”

Definitely not Ginny.

Even if she had enjoyed a front row seat to hundreds of Mike’s perfectly timed swings, the steady metronome of his legs as he ran the bases, the nearly choreographed balletics of a successful throwdown. None of that ever made her think that Mike Lawson might have a decent sense of rhythm, on the dance floor or otherwise. 

Nope. Definitely not.

But now, as diligently as Ginny had gone out of her way not to think any of those things, the knowledge was burned into her brain, and she hated it. 

Not because it would now be so much harder to divert her thoughts from the gutter where they tended to live whenever another reminder of Mike’s physical acumen arose—that was just about every damn day, a familiar hazard when he was a professional athlete who relied on his strength every game. No, Ginny hated it because she’d always thought, in the back of her mind, that this knowledge would come with some firsthand experience. 

Watching from the sidelines was not the same. 

“I guess.” She took a drink so her sour expression could be blamed on the lime in her gin and tonic as Mike continued to smoothly foxtrot around the dance floor, some Padres Foundation bigwig hanging off his broad shoulders. 

Evelyn eyed her sidelong and raised one eyebrow. 

Ginny didn’t cave to her friend’s silent interrogation. Besides, Evelyn was smart enough to know not to ask questions she didn’t already know the answer to. She probably knew every thought that pinged through Ginny’s mind as they occured. 

“If you want a distraction, I’m sure there’re plenty of people who’d take you out for a spin.”

She didn’t argue with her desire for distraction, but Ginny’s nose still scrunched. “Plenty of people who’d like to get a little handsy with me and blame it on all the champagne, you mean.”

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t let  _someone_  get a little handsy,” Evelyn returned, grinning leadingly.

“Ev—”

“Evelyn,” came the familiar, gruff voice of Mike Lawson. Apparently, he was done dancing, his partner nowhere in sight. Ginny didn’t bother to look at him—mostly because she was already far too familiar with the fit of his suit and the lush density of his beard—as he greeted her, too. “Hey, Baker. You two too good for the dance floor?”

Of course, at that moment, Blip strolled up to whisk his wife away so they could sway to the slow, romantic strains coming from the live band. Ginny watched them go, smiling fondly. Right there, that was couple goals. 

It wasn’t until Mike cleared his throat that Ginny finally looked at him. This close, it was a lot to deal with. Still, she made herself meet his gaze, which was an odd mix of humor and shyness. 

“You gonna leave me hanging?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion, and Mike glanced pointedly down. Ginny followed his gaze to see his hand held out to her, palm up. She looked up again, words stuck in her throat. 

“C’mon, Gin. It’s just a dance.”

She doubted there’d ever be anything “just” between her and Mike. 

That didn’t stop her from slipping her hand into his, though.

 


	92. trope mashup: the hurrier i go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> perfectblue: 12 + 60! (Bawson, obviously!) 
> 
> roommate au + poorly timed confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Ginny moves in with Mike, future fic, edited
> 
> title: Lewis Carroll quote, " _The hurrier I go,_ the behinder I get."

_Okay, since I don’t think I’ve done the whole “Ginny moves in with Mike (either to the pool house or the fishbowl itself) after her injury” thing, I would probably go with that as the roommate angle? So, with that as a base…_

* * *

Ginny was late. Like, truly, unforgivably late. 

To her shame, this had been happening a lot lately. Apparently, simply living with a man meant that all his bad habits were bound to rub off. And Mike Lawson had plenty of bad habits to impart. 

Not that she and Mike were  _really_  living together. Or that any part of him was rubbing off or on her—

_Get your shit together, Ginny, or Ev’s gonna murder you._

She’d love to avoid that, if at all possible; Ginny had already left Evelyn waiting once this week. If only she could find her keys. A task that would probably be easier without the mental image of Lawson’s broad, naked chest hovering just inches above her prone, eager form, coming closer and closer but not nearly fast enough. Maybe he'd be quicker if she wound her legs around—

“Looking for something?” the man in question asked, fully clothed—no time to examine why that was such a disappointment—and hardly bothering to glance up from his book. Which was probably a good thing. Ginny had discovered that Mike Lawson in cheaters, peering at her over the top of a book wreaked nothing but havoc on her blood pressure and good sense. She really didn’t need to be any more sidetracked than she already was. 

“Keys,” she returned, rummaging through her gym bag, though it hadn’t moved in a few days. One perk of living with a millionaire and his state of the art home gym. 

“Check your white jacket.” 

Ginny would swear they weren’t there, but when she thrust a hand into the right pocket, her fingers were met with a jangle of cool metal. 

“Find them?” he asked, sounding too smug for what could have just been a good guess.

“No,” Ginny lied. 

Mike didn’t even bother rolling his eyes, just flipped his page. “You helping Ev with the twins’ party?”

“Yep. I’ll grab groceries on my way back. You need anything?”

She was lingering, soaking up as much time with Mike, casual as this was, in spite of how late she already was. Kicking herself into gear, she whirled around the kitchen, picking up her phone and the grocery list and her purse and circling back to her keys when she realized she’d dropped them somewhere along the way. Maybe if she moved quick enough, her thoughts wouldn’t be able to keep up.

(No such luck. She didn't have to give herself time to study the way he sprawled on the couch, limbs loose and relaxed. Just like she didn't need to actively consider how good it would feel to fit herself into the empty spaces between his thighs and arms. These were facts that she'd picked up on very early into her stint as Mike's tenant and had no problem keeping up with her, no matter how hard she worked to stay ahead.)

Shaking herself out of the rut her thoughts wanted to drag her down, Ginny did her best to shut down her brain and get on with the task at hand: leaving the house so Evelyn wouldn't have even more opportunity to make jabs about Ginny's new domestic bliss. There was no bliss to be had. Even if Mike looked perfectly delicious where he sat, bathed in the warm afternoon sun.

“Just what’s on the list,” he said, unaware of the roiling war for control going on in his roommate's head. “Actually, could you get those—”

“Protein bars you like?"

"Yeah, with the—"

"Cherries and almonds?"

"Yep."

"Already on it, old man.”

“Get outta here, rookie.”

Ginny laughed, tossing a quick, “Bye. Love you,” over her shoulder as she rushed out of the house.

Not even halfway down the front steps, Ginny froze. What the hell had she just said?

_Bye. Love you._

It rang in her ears, offhand and distracted and still utterly true. Before she could make a mad dash for her car, drive away while she could still pretend that she hadn’t just done the unthinkable, the latch of the door overpowered the echoes of her own words. She couldn’t bring herself to turn around, just stood with her feet fixed in place and waited for the ground to swallow her whole.

“Ginny.”

Mike’s voice was raw. She could just imagine the pitying look he’d give her, the speech about how they were teammates, friends, roommates now. She was preparing herself to laugh it off, pretend it was all a joke, when his fingers closed around her wrist, rough calluses at odds with the tentative touch. With a firm, gentle tug, he pulled her around to face him. 

That definitely wasn’t pity on Mike’s face. 

Ginny didn’t have much chance to better identify it because almost before she knew what was happening, Mike’s free hand was cradling the back of her head, he was pulling her close, and he was kissing her. Nothing about Ginny had to play catch up this time around. She kissed him back. 

_Evelyn’s really gonna murder you._

It was a distant—so very fucking distant compared to the immediacy of Mike’s mouth, hot and insistent, and his body pressed so close, thrumming with want—thought, but it was there, taking shape in her mind nonetheless.

Then, as Mike drew her back through the open door, his hands reverent on her hips and his lips still sealed against hers, another one formed:  _Let her._   _This is so worth it._

 


	93. trope mashup: the best way to make your dreams come true...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: 95 + 86 heheheh i can see this so much
> 
> sleep intimacy + i didn’t mean to turn you on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: bed sharing, not quite smut, edited
> 
> chapter title: Paul Valéry quote, " _The best way to make your dreams come true_ is to wake up."

As someone who owned the best mattress that money could buy—complete with automatic temperature regulators and angle adjustors and personalized density controls; the damn thing did everything but vibrate—Mike Lawson could safely say that he’d never had a better night of sleep. 

And that was a huge fucking problem. 

Because he hadn't slept on that mattress last night.

Of course, the problem wasn't that he'd proved that his mattress investment was complete bullshit. That would be too easy. The problem was that he’d only slept so well not because of what he’d slept on, but who he’d slept with.

Ginny. 

Who else?

Even as he’d walked down the hall to her room, his own rendered uninhabitable thanks to the loud, enthusiastic, marathon sex occurring just a thin wall away—and seriously, they’d just played a doubleheader, how did anyone have the energy for that?—Mike had known he could ask anyone to give him somewhere to sleep, and they'd have to. He'd offered shelter often enough in the past. He went to Ginny anyway, and she’d allowed him in with only minimal ribbing.

They’d assured each other that it would be fine, laughing off the specter of danger a bit too brightly—like the idea of anything happening between them and one bed was absolutely, utterly absurd—as they slid beneath the sheets and flicked off the lights.

In the dark, with the full day behind them, it hadn’t taken long to fall asleep, each firmly sequestered on their side of the bed and fully aware of what lay between. 

The dark hadn’t just lulled them to sleep, though. It offered cover for things—affection, intimacy—they weren’t allowed in the light of day. 

Which was another problem now that sunshine was beginning to filter through the cracks in the curtains.

In the night, they’d drifted close, giving into gravity and twining together, maybe too well to untangle without waking her. Her arms remained wrapped around his waist, fists clenched in the back of his shirt like, even asleep, Ginny wanted to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. Mike’s own arms mirrored hers, cradling Ginny to his chest. His hands, though, were bolder. Both had edged into the waistband of her shorts, fingers resting possessively over the perfect curve of her ass. His grip also kept her leg in place, knee draped over his thighs and nearly opening her up for an easy—

_Shut it down, Lawson._

He’d known. He’d  _fucking known_  that this would happen. That going to sleep with Ginny Baker meant waking up with her, too. It meant waking up wrapped in sheets that smelled intoxicatingly of her lotion, but more than that, waking up wrapped in her.

He was never gonna get another night’s rest again. Not when visions of _this_ were around to torment him.

At least Ginny was still asleep. If he was lucky, he could extricate himself—to say nothing of his dick, which had very clearly woken up well before him and was pressing insistently into her soft, inner thigh—with most of his dignity intact. 

Of course, Mike had never been all that lucky. 

While he was strategizing his first move—not, of course, simply reveling the warm puff of Ginny’s breath against his neck, the rise and fall of her chest against him—she began to stir. Her feet drew lazily up his calves and her back arched in an unconscious stretch. 

Needless to say, Mike panicked. 

“Shit!” he cursed, flailing and lunging for the edge of the bed. Anything to put some distance between him and Ginny and a conversation about why his hands were down her pants and his hardon was digging into her leg. Anything to ensure that he hadn’t ruined everything. He was semi-successful.

He made it out of the bed. Only, Ginny came with him.

Too tangled in one another to disengage without disturbing the other, Mike would have been able to get free—at the cost of his dignity, but that ship had already sailed—if it weren’t for the sheets and duvet that had followed them through the night, forming a snug cocoon. 

So, Mike made it out of the bed only fall straight to the floor, too wrapped up in Ginny to notice what else had wrapped around them.

He groaned, but it was hard to care about the ache in his back with Ginny, surprised and breathing hard, sprawled on top of him. She looked pretty good there. Felt even better. 

She flushed and he did, too, suddenly aware that their new position left less to the imagination than before, especially since his dick just had to keep making its presence known. He tried to roll, so he could pick himself off her, but they were still too tangled in the sheets for it to do much good. All Mike succeeded in doing was trading places with Ginny, looking down at her pinned beneath him, their hips nearly bound together with yards of hotel linens. Trying to be a gentleman, he shifted back, but she just slid with him.

Ginny whimpered and Mike went stock still. But that sound wasn’t pain, it was—

Slow, inexorable, his gaze raked upwards. It swept over her chest, not quite heaving as she struggled to steady her breathing, and up the long column of her neck. It danced over dark, flushed cheeks and landed on her eyes, even more unfathomable than usual, her pupils blown out, pushing only a thin ring of brown to the edges. He couldn’t look away, though he was certainly tempted when, in his periphery, he caught a pink flash. Her tongue darting out to wet her lips. 

Experimentally, he shifted his hips, settling deeper into the warmth between her thighs and repressing the urge to shudder. Or begin rutting into her without mercy. Ginny tensed and made that sound, the one that would play in a loop through his every thought for the rest of eternity, her eyelashes fluttering. He did it again to confirm, and her legs wrapped tight around him. Her nails dug into his back. 

“Don’t tease me, Mike,” she commanded for all her voice was already ragged and desperate.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, though that was a goddamn lie. He’d dreamed of taking her to the edge and back, working her into a veritable froth until all Ginny could do was beg for more. 

That could wait. For now, reality was looking much more tempting.

 


	94. trope mashup: is to wake up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: 75 and 88 for bawson
> 
> bed sharing + erotic dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: trope mashup, alt POV for [the best way to make your dreams come true](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980407/chapters/36203310), edited
> 
> chapter title: Paul Valéry quote, "The best way to make your dreams come true _is to wake up_."

When he’d shown up at her door, rumpled and grumpy and already drooping, Ginny hadn’t been able to turn him away. She’d teased him, of course, but stepped aside to let him in. To her room. And, more importantly, to her bed. 

Even if it was just to sleep. 

Well, it was  _supposed_  to be just to sleep.

It was really a recipe for disaster.

Because of course, Ginny’s traitorous subconscious couldn’t pass up the opportunity for a little torment. Though could she really blame it? It’d been a long time since she’d climbed into bed with anyone. And the fact that the man in her bed was none other than Mike Lawson? 

Disaster.

Her body and her mind thrummed with the awareness of Mike, just a few inches away and breathing easy. She doubted that awareness would fade once unconsciousness claimed her. If she hadn’t been so exhausted, maybe Ginny would have fought the tug of sleep. Would have tried to stay awake to keep her body from betraying her in the night. Because she was sure that it would. 

It was the last thought she had before sinking under. 

The first she had upon waking was much simpler. 

 _Mike_. 

Whether it was a remnant of her dreams—all she had were flashes; Mike’s mouth closing on her nipple, the click of his teeth and tendons straining as her hands wandered, heat, sweat, the delicious ache in her thighs as he held them apart—that had left her wet and wanting or the reality of waking up in his arms, Ginny wasn’t quite sure. 

It was reality that quickly snared her attention, though.

How couldn’t it? Between Mike’s hands lying against her skin, his mouth pressed to her forehead, his dick pressing against her hip, it was much better than half-remembered snatches of a dream. 

When they ended up on the floor, snarled in a tangle of blankets, Ginny had to reassess the distinction between dreams and reality. Because it seemed like an awful lot of her dreams lately started out just like this…

But then Mike’s hips stuttered and rocked into her, and she knew for sure. Even through the layers of their clothes, that one stroke was hotter, realer,  _better_ than anything Ginny had ever dreamed up. 

Though, when it was all said and done, when she and Mike had made it from the floor to the bed to the shower and back, she couldn’t say that that this wouldn’t provide some excellent inspiration for a little daydreaming. Though, if she was lucky (and considering the way Mike had finished round one and set about kickstarting round two then and there, proving he could put his mouth to other uses than just riling her up—well, riling her up in a different way—Ginny had a really good feeling that she was), she wouldn’t have much time on her hands for that.

She really, really didn’t mind.

 


	95. trope mashup: without limits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ladyinredfics: Bawson, 45 and 80 (actual random combo)
> 
> chocolate of romance + green-eyed epiphany

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: jealous!Mike, future fic, pre-relationship, edited
> 
> chapter title: quote from _Chocolat_ , "The process of giving is _without limits_."

This was stupid. Mike  _knew_  it was stupid. 

And yet, here he was, seriously contemplating buying out the entire candy aisle. What could he say? He was pretty goddamn stupid when it came to Ginny Baker. 

Well, that, and he was apparently a possessive asshole, too. 

It wasn’t a comforting realization to come to at the ripe old age of 38. Then again, neither was finally realizing—more like finally giving up on that losing game with denial—that he was deeply, truly, irrevocably in love with his pitcher.

And all because of some stupid candy.

Mike knew a lot of things about her: her favorite color (blue like the sky on a perfect June day), her irrational fears (”It’s not irrational to be afraid of snakes, Lawson.”), what she’d probably had for breakfast today (Thursday meant a mushroom and spinach omelet with a side of bacon and toast), and the exact pocket in her wallet where his rookie card—the one she swore up and down that she didn’t have—lived (second from the end, behind her old Edgecombe County Memorial Library card). 

But he didn’t know her favorite fucking candy. 

He wasn’t sure how it was possible; Mike spent at least six months of the year with the woman and drank up every detail about her like someone dying of thirst. How had this escaped his notice? He was even less sure of why this piece of information had become so vital to know. 

Except, no. No, he wasn’t. 

Suffice it to say, Mike could blame—both this newfound awareness of his feelings and this stupid, stupid endeavor—it all on Livan. If it hadn’t been for him trying to tease Ginny’s favorite candy out of her, making some bold insinuations as he did, Mike never would have been struck over the head by the twin bolts of rage and jealousy, putting a swift end to the pretense that his feelings for Ginny were purely platonic.

It didn’t entirely explain why he’d gotten so hung up on this candy thing, but Mike wasn’t going to question it. So, it’d become a game. One that Mike was determined to win. To be fair, he was really the only one playing; Livan had dropped the matter as soon as Ginny’d steered him to a new topic. 

Mike would not be so easily discouraged. 

Except, if he didn’t hurry up and pick something, he was going to miss BP altogether. And while he enjoyed Ginny’s disapproval more than he should, more than made sense, he wanted her in a good mood today. 

Making a gut decision, and maybe an optimistic one too, he snatched a bag from the shelf and went to pay. 

* * *

He didn’t have a chance to present Ginny with his guess until after the game, but that was probably better. Fewer people around. Less going on. Easier to make an excuse and leave if he ended up making a fool of himself. 

Which seemed entirely too possible. 

Before he could talk himself out of this, Mike made his way to Ginny’s changing room, candy in hand. She sat in her chair, frowning down at her phone, but her backpack was zipped at her feet, packed and ready to go. There was probably room for his gift, though. 

“Think fast, Baker.”

Unerringly, Mike tossed the bag of Hershey’s Kisses into her lap. The throw nearly knocked her phone from her hands, but Ginny didn’t seem to mind, too surprised by the sudden windfall. For a moment, she just stared at the candy; it stretched on long enough for Mike to consider making an escape.

Finally, though, she grinned up at him, clearly delighted. Her fingers were already busy tearing into the bag. “How’d you know these’re my favorite?”

“Had a feeling,” he replied, casual in spite of the way he wanted to celebrate his success. 

“Any time,” Ginny said, popping a chocolate drop into her mouth and humming with pleasure around it, “you want to have another feeling about what I like, go right ahead.”

Even without the invitation, Mike doubted that he’d stop. 

Rather than say so, he rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure you can afford your own chocolate by now.”

“Tastes better when it comes from someone else,” she rationalized, pushing to her feet and swinging her backpack to a shoulder in one smooth movement. As Ginny came towards him, her eyes were alight with something Mike was reluctant to name, if only because he’d be too disappointed if he were wrong. “Besides, I like  _lots_  of things.”

Her gaze dropped tellingly to his mouth as she drew even with him. For the life of him, Mike couldn’t move. Ginny didn’t seem to mind, not if the way her shoulder brushed lingeringly against his chest as she squeezed through the door was any indicator. She paused before she was completely free, her side pressed to his. In the blink of an eye, almost fast enough that Mike could have imagined it, she rocked further into his space and pressed her lips low on his cheek, nearly against his jaw. 

“Thanks for the Kisses, Mike,” she murmured, close enough that her breath puffed against his skin. “Remember: any time.”

Once Mike had reeled his soul back into his body and he’d convinced himself that this wasn’t some kind of delusion, he made his way to his car as quickly as humanly possible. Ginny hadn’t stuck around, but he kind of hoped that she was waiting on him anyway. 

Because any time? That included right now.

 


	96. trope mashup: don't need a hint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: 31+86+mike+ginny
> 
> birthday au + i didn’t mean to turn you on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: future fic, getting together, Ginny POV, edited
> 
> chapter title: Demetri Martin quote, "Surprise parties are strange 'cause people jump up and they yell the word, 'surprise' at the party. I came home and you emerged from my furniture. You don't have to tell me how to feel. I _don't need a hint_."

Ginny was fully aware that this was neither the time nor the place. She shouldn’t be burning up with lust in the middle of a party thrown specifically for her. At least not when no one was trying to get her all hot and bothered.

Nonetheless, here Ginny was, desire and need twisting up inside her, threatening to set her aflame if she didn’t do  _something_  but absolutely unable to do anything about it. After all, the guest of honor couldn’t just disappear, dragging the host along with her for a long, thorough, _private_ “thank you,” without raising a few eyebrows. And she and Mike had gotten so far without raising any eyebrows at all. It’d be a shame to ruin their record at the surprise birthday party he’d thrown for her. 

She had been surprised. And then surprised all over again when she realized he’d managed to keep the secret from her. 

Ginny’d walked into Mike’s house, expecting to pick up the book he’d borrowed a week ago and then find an excuse not to leave, only to be greeted by a wall of sound and what seemed like every person she’d ever known. Mike was smack dab in the middle of it all, grinning with well-earned pride. 

Once the chorus of, “Surprise!” died away, he was at her side, murmuring a much quieter, “Happy birthday, rook,” in her ear. 

That had been the start of it. 

But the flutter of Ginny’s heart at his warm words and warmer body only grew into a bona fide stampede as the night wore on. Everywhere she turned, Ginny was confronted with the evidence of Mike’s careful planning, his attention to detail. To her details, specifically. 

He’d stocked the bar with not only her favorite beer but the fancy grape soda she only got for special occasions. He’d gotten the catering company to make all her favorites: jalapeño burger sliders and onion rings and tiny key lime pies and what seemed like a million other things. He’d gotten an actual bouncy castle, even though he’d teased her mercilessly when she admitted to still being sad she’d never had a birthday party with one.

Mike knew her. Maybe better than anyone had before.

And that was really fucking hot.

And Ginny wasn’t going to get through the night without doing something about it, whether or not she should. 

“You having fun?” he asked when she managed to corner him in the pantry, the sounds of the party muffled by the closed door. 

Ginny simply nodded, her eyes darting from his lips to his jaw to his hands, raking over every detail she could see. He wasn't the only one who could collect facts and trivia.

Mike just grinned. “Speechless, huh? Well, just wait until—”

She cut him off with a kiss, her tongue sliding against his eagerly, taking advantage of his surprise. It didn’t last long, though, his hands tangling in her hair, the hem of her shirt, dragging her close until Ginny could feel his interest stir against her stomach. Her hands dove for his waistband, but he pulled away, making her whine in annoyance. 

“Ginny,” Mike managed, clearly dazed. “What— Why—?”

“You threw me the perfect party, Lawson,” she said, contenting herself with worrying her teeth into the tendon straining in his neck since she couldn’t have his mouth. “What else did you expect?”

“Not this!” he protested, though he had yet to let go of her hip, and that interest hadn’t subsided.

She bit down the uncertainty that bloomed to life. Just because he hadn’t expected this didn’t mean he didn’t want it. Didn’t want her. She hoped so, at least. “Then we were both surprised tonight. Only seems fair.” 

His chuckle, buzzing against her mouth as he lowered his face to hers once more, was all the agreement she needed.

 


	97. trope mashup: would you want to know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> theblackpearlofwakanda: Soulmate AU + Blind date Bawson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Hollywood!AU, soulmates, edited
> 
> chapter title: from _TiMER_ , "If a clock could count down to the exact moment you meet your soul mate, _would you want to know?_ "

When Mike agreed to a set up the day his TiMER was supposed to go off, he hadn’t actually been thinking about the little gadget implanted in his wrist. 

Mostly because he tried to give the thing as little attention as possible. One day, he was going to get it removed the way he should have the second he got it put in, two weeks after Rachel told him she wanted a divorce and he’d still been trying to prove they could hack it together. (That his display started counting down immediately while hers remained stubbornly zeroed out hadn’t been a point in his favor.)

No, Mike was more preoccupied with the fact that Blip Sanders was trying to set him up on an honest to God date. 

“It’s not a date,” his friend had frowned. Clearly, Blip remembered his promise not to waste any more of Ev’s single friends on Mike. “It’s a pitch meeting with an old friend. She’s got something really special in the works.”

Mike’s groaned. “You too? You have any idea how many of these meetings I’ve taken since we wrapped last week? I think my agent’s trying to make back my divorce settlement in one year.”

“Poor Mr. Millionaire,” he shot back, though it wasn’t like Blip had much room to talk. Mike was pretty sure his friend’s latest project was raking it in at the box office. “Take the damn meeting.”

“Seriously, Blip,” he complained, though he knew he’d do him the favor anyway. “I can’t count the number of so-called geniuses with the next big thing I’ve met.”

Blip just shook his head. “You haven’t met Ginny Baker.”

* * *

He almost didn’t. Meet her, that is. More than a decade he’d lived in LA, and Mike still was surprised by the traffic. 

So, strolling into the indie coffee joint nearly half an hour late, Mike was prepared to discover that this Ginny Baker had up and left rather than wait on him any longer. He wouldn’t say he was disappointed to discover that she hadn’t, and that was only about 60% because of the way she looked. 

She didn’t bother to glance up when he came through the door, but there was no mistaking her. So what if Mike had gone and looked her up when Blip asked for the favor? He liked knowing what he was getting into. Except, apparently, he hadn’t done that thorough of a job. At the very least, the few pictures he’d found hadn’t begun to do her justice.

Still, beautiful women were pretty much par for the course in Mike’s line of work. He took this revelation in stride, and approached her table. 

“Well, if it isn’t Ginny Baker,” he announced, clearly startling her from her intense study of her laptop for all she hid it pretty well. “You know, I’ve heard an awful lot about you.”

“And you must be Mike Lawson,” she returned, not quite meeting his gaze. Her wry grin made up for it. “Blip warned me you’d be late.”

Mike collapsed into the seat across from her without waiting for an invitation. Maybe if he was overly comfortable, Ginny’s nerves would fade. She hadn’t stopped fingering the cuff of her jacket sleeve since he first laid eyes on her. Add in the fact that she still had yet to look him in the eye, and it was clear she wasn’t at ease.

“And Blip warned me,” he drawled, “that you want to my money to make some cinematic masterpiece.” 

Ginny must have heard the cynicism in his tone because all at once her nervousness dropped away, brown eyes flashing as she stared him down, ready to defend her passion project.

He was sure she would have, too, if it weren’t for the quiet, synchronized chime that came from both of their wrists. 

They froze, staring into each other’s eyes as the devices chirped on. Instinctually, Mike understood her caginess; she’d kept better track of her TiMER and knew this moment was coming today, but maybe she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted it. Irrational as it was, he resolved to make sure she didn’t regret this. 

“I guess me wanting your money is the least of our problems,” she said into the silence that rang between them when the alarms went quiet.

Mike couldn’t help it. He laughed. Long and loud and probably too hard for the circumstances. But when Ginny joined in, tentative at first but quickly giving in to the absurdity, he felt more pride in that one simple act than anything else he’d ever done. 

“Doesn’t exactly feel like a problem to me,” he ventured, hopeful but trying not to show it. 

Ginny considered him before shaking her head thoughtfully. “No,” she said, “I guess it doesn’t.”


	98. trope mashup: as they kiss (consume)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> newyorkrican922: 1 & 64\. Bawson please!
> 
> historical AU + star crossed lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Elizabethan AU, if it counts, I did less than 0 research, edited
> 
> chapter title: _Romeo and Juliet_ quote, "These violent delights have violent ends / And in their triumph die, like fire and powder / Which _as they kiss consume_."

Outside the theater, the rumble of discontent grew ever louder. Ginny did not bother to glance out the window. If she did, she would only find that the angry crowd had grown, the streams of London gossip having done their duty.

It was, apparently, too much to ask that her secret remain undiscovered until after opening night. All that work she and her company had put into  _The Padre’s Promise_ , and it now seemed as though no one would ever see it. It, and any knowledge of it having even once existed, would pass out of memory, and she with it. She would be wiped from the annals of history for daring to try and "exceed her station."

Ginny had known that this was all a mad gamble, one that could very well end with her facing down an angry mob—the crowds of London were not best known for their easy tempers, after all—but she had not let that stop her. Her father had never managed to get as far as she had.

Bitterly, she reckoned that had her father been in her place, none of this would be happening. Audiences would enjoy the work of a man, even one of her complexion—lucky since Ginny could not very well hide that day in and out—but the knowledge that nothing hung between her legs was a step too far. 

Ginny had never wanted to truly be a man, but she certainly envied their ease in the world. Which was why she had pretended to be one in the first place. She’d had no hope of finding investors or actors or a stage for her play as a woman, and a common one at that. Since the play was why she’d come to London at all, and she abhorred the idea of allowing someone else to take credit for her work, Ginny had engaged in what, at the time, seemed like a perfectly reasonable deception. Thus William Baker came to London. 

That her brother would remain safely at home, many miles away, had been an assumption taken far too quickly, unfortunately.

However, she could not blame her current predicament entirely on Will.

No, Ginny was to blame, too. Ginny and her decided lack of discipline when it came to the leader of her troupe of actors. 

Michael Lawson had discovered her secret far too quickly. Yet, rather than expose her lies, he had helped her. At first, he claimed it was solely self-interest; he wanted a name for himself and believed  _The Padre's Promise_ was the way to do it. Somewhere along the way, though, it became something more. 

Something more which often ended with him beneath her skirts. Or in her hose, as the case may be. 

Someone must have seen them together. They had been less discreet of late, too enthralled by one another to consider anyone else or their prying eyes. 

The clamor outside rose in volume yet again. Ginny knew better than to near the window, but she could not hide away forever. 

Before she could truly consider facing the growing mob, the door to her tiny office opened. There stood Michael, a look of relief spreading across his face.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, taking in her form to ensure she was unharmed. 

She nodded to the window. “You are not the only one.”

He ignored the dark jest, holding out his hand. “Come.”

“Where?” she laughed. Better to find humor in the situation than give into despair.

“I know The Park better than you. There are little-used exits that no one is watching.”

“If anyone finds you with me—”

“Then they find me,” he replied, fierce. “I will not leave you.”

Ginny finally put her hand in his, yet still she said, gently, “You could.”

Michael did not seem to appreciate this. He pulled until she came flush with his chest and pressed his lips to hers, every bit as fierce as his promise. Ginny felt some part of her go up in flames and happily watched the ashes settle. 

Once they had satisfied themselves, they made their way out of the theater, slipping past the milling, muttering crowd. They dashed through the streets of London, hand in hand, making their escape together.

 


	99. trope mashup: thinking nothing of it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> karma-tattoo: how about almost kiss + aroused by her voice? for bawson obvi :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: pre-relationship, pining, edited
> 
> chapter title: "Kiss Me Thru the Phone," Soulja Boy

Mike should stop calling. 

More accurately, he should’ve stopped calling months ago, when he and Rachel had thought it would be a good idea to give it another go—it hadn’t—and Ginny’d had to focus on getting back in fighting shape. (That there may have been some kind of millionaire on the hook at her end, too, Mike usually forgot to remember.) 

He hadn’t then, and he doubted he’d stop now. 

Even if his brain had conjured up some Pavlovian response between the sound of Ginny’s voice and the eagerness of his dick.

He shifted on the lounger, trying to focus on the ripples of the pool instead of the way he was already semi-hard only a minute and a half into tonight’s conversation. 

“I swear I thought he’d run out and hug me when I left that ball over the plate,” Ginny complained, her voice low and edging towards hoarse from a day at the park. “I bet he sends me a fruit basket or something for breaking him out of that slump.”

“You keep throwing your curve the way you have, and every team in the league’s gonna be sending you gift baskets.”

She laughed and that semi rose to full mast. Even when she followed it up with a “Fuck off, Lawson.” 

“You’re leaving it hanging,” he said. Better that than anything else floating around his brain.

“Hey, you’re still up, right?”

 _Oh, I’m definitely up,_ he thought, adjusting himself and making sure not to get more than one or two good squeezes in before removing his hand. Mike had yet to descend to the depths of getting off while he talked with Ginny, but some days, bottom felt much closer than it should. “It’s not even 8:30, Baker. Of course I’m still awake.”

“How am I supposed to know? I figured your Early Bird Special might’ve wiped you out.”

“You need new material.”

“You can help me out, then.” 

Before he could ask what the hell she was talking about, his intercom buzzed. Even out here by the pool, Mike wasn’t allowed to ignore visitors. 

“What’d you do?” he demanded, already pushing to his feet and thinking desperately of ice baths and someone’s grandmother—he’d never known his. Reluctantly, his hard-on withered.

“Nothing!” Ginny protested. “I just didn’t feel like hanging out by myself. I can go if—”

Mike bit back a sigh. “No, it’s fine. I’m on my way.”

When he got to the door, she did not look appropriately grateful, but he still let her in. They’d done this before. Hung out in person, just the two of them. It wasn’t a big deal. Mike liked to think he didn’t imagine the way the air between them sometimes crackled with possibility, but if Ginny wasn’t going to mention it, neither would he. 

It was just another night spent heckling other baseball teams and the national broadcasters, Ginny raiding his refrigerator and cupboards at will and Mike indulging in the fantasy that this was more than what it was. Which wasn’t a hard prospect when Ginny went all loose-limbed and content on the couch, her head lolling against his shoulder like it belonged there. It felt like it did. 

When she started yawning, though, Mike shook himself from the fantasy and started to bundle her out the door. She went slowly, dragging her feet, though that was probably just the exhaustion setting in and not any reluctance to leave. She leaned on him all the way to the door, and Mike wished his path took them upstairs to an entirely different door instead. 

“G’night, Mike,” she murmured, just the way she did at the end of their calls. 

But unlike on their calls, she was here. Warm and sweet and pressed into his side. 

Mike lost his mind. 

It was the only explanation for what happened. For the way he turned her into him and ducked his face down to hers. Ginny was already looking up, her lips still parted from the way she’d said his name. They were right there, perfect and pink and his for the taking. 

At the very last moment, survival instinct kicked in. Mike veered and brushed his kiss awkwardly against her temple, settling a loose hug around her shoulders. “Good night,” he said, gruff to cover up his mortification. When he couldn’t justify holding her any longer, he pulled away.

Ginny was certainly awake now. She stared at him for a long moment and then blinked, shaking her head. Like she wasn’t sure what had just happened and needed to make sure she wasn't seeing things. 

“I’ll, um,” she said, still looking a little shellshocked. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then she was gone. 

Mike closed and locked the door in a haze. 

It wasn’t until his phone, forgotten in his pocket, buzzed just as he was about to climb into bed that Mike managed to draw himself out of his funk. 

The message on his screen read,  _You were going to kiss me, weren’t you?_

God. She couldn’t just let things be, could she? 

 _Don’t know what you’re talking about_.  

Ginny ignored him, but Mike didn’t mind. Not when she said,  _You should have kissed me._

_Maybe next time I will._

When he finally fell asleep, her responding message was still dancing before his eyes, etched into his brain. 

_Good. I’m counting on it._

 


	100. trope mashup: seven weeks in heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: first kiss + locked in a room + bawson?? i love this concept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: pre-relationship, Padres hijinks, first kiss, edited

This was getting a bit ridiculous. Well, it’d passed “a bit” about five weeks ago and now hovered stubbornly around “a whole fucking lot.”

Unfortunately, none of the people who were responsible for this situation seemed to agree.

Ginny swiveled self-consciously in her chair. Hardly two feet away, Mike did the same. Though, he looked far more at ease than she felt. Slouching comfortably, his knees splayed in that unthinking spread that so many guys adopted. On him, it didn't annoy Ginny half as much as it should have.

He blew an idle bubble with his gum, the  _snap_  of its sudden deflation biting into the silence.

“So,” he drawled, making Ginny guiltily start. Had she been staring? She’d probably been staring.

Could anyone blame her, though? Mike Lawson at a distance was a lot to deal with, that was how much charm he oozed. In such close proximity, with no route for escape? Ginny had no chance. Unfortunately, too, she hadn’t gotten any better with practice or exposure.

And she’d had a lot. Especially lately.

“What’s the excuse you think they’ll use this time?” she asked, dropping her gaze to her phone even though no one had responded to her texts. Well, Evelyn had sent a string of the crying laughter emoji, but Ginny didn’t count that.

Mike shrugged expressively. “They’re not that creative. Probably just say the door’s jammed.”

She didn’t disagree but didn’t want to let her tiny dressing room descend back into quiet, either. It gave her too many opportunities to think. To imagine. To want.

“I don’t know. Salvi and Dusty have been acting pretty cagey lately. I think they’re trying to come up with the perfect reason for us to be trapped somewhere. Again.” 

Ginny had lost count of the number of rooms now she’d been locked in with Mike. First, it was the cardio suite, though neither of them had actually noticed that one, too caught up in their workouts to bother checking the door. It wasn't until one of the trainers came in and asked if they knew why the door had been locked that they even realized they'd been stuck. Now, nearly two months after the fact, she'd somehow ended up inexplicably in locked rooms and closets and pantries in cities all across America with only Lawson for company more times than she could accurately recall. Something was definitely up, and Ginny had no doubts about who was to blame.

If either she or Mike suspected why they were being subjected to this treatment, neither of them had ever said. Their teammates, the masterminds behind this plan, hadn’t either. (They were at least smart enough to deny any and all knowledge of "a plan.")

Honestly, she was probably better off not knowing why for sure.

Mike snorted. “They’re gonna be working a long time if they’re aiming for perfect.”

“You don’t think they have it in them?”

“I know they don’t.”

Ginny laughed, leaning forward. Mike mirrored her, his eyes alight with mischief. “Are you badmouthing our teammates?” she demanded, grinning. 

“Your teammates, too.” He grinned back. “And you’d do it if I gave you the opening.”

“So give me one,” she challenged, inching closer in spite of the way danger sirens rang in her head. Ginny loved being this close to Mike. Loved it almost as much as she knew she shouldn't. But could anyone blame her for reveling in the chance to inhale the woodsy scent of his cologne and catalog every color that swirled in his hazel eyes?

That was a hard prospect today. His pupils had blown out as he stared, transfixed, at her, leaving only a thin ring of the greenish-brown. It didn't matter, though. Ginny stared back as the alarms went quiet and a single thought crystallized into perfect clarity. 

_Fuck it._

Before she could overthink it, she closed the remaining few inches between them. In spite of the short trip, her aim wasn’t perfect. Her mouth landed off-center from Mike’s, the bristles of his beard rasping against her lips until his hand cupped her cheek, righting her, sliding her mouth against his until they were perfectly aligned. Ginny made a sound of approval, which he swallowed eagerly. Her own hands wound into his hair, tugging until she’d earned her own muffled grunt. 

When she finally came up for breath, who knew how many minutes later, it wasn’t the seat of her chair beneath her, but Mike’s lap. Her lips and tongue tingled with the mint of his gum. His cheeks had flushed and his eyes were hooded and his hands had taken up proprietary residence on her hips. 

Unfortunately, the sound of the latch to her dressing room disengaging was enough to knock her out of her giddy perusal of what Mike Lawson looked like well on his way to being thoroughly debauched.

The door swung upon to reveal Buck, who stared for a few seconds, shook his head, and turned away, muttering, “I’ll come back later.”

As the door shut behind him, Ginny let out a high, hysterical giggle and hid her face in Mike’s shoulder. He kissed her ear, the only part he could reach, and rubbed her back, slow, steady motions that eased the panicked tightness in her chest. 

“Do you think he’ll tell anyone?” she eventually managed.

“Hope not.” Right. Because if anyone found out what she and Mike had just been doing, it spelled disaster. Which was a pretty good reason to keep this a one-time performance. Before Ginny could disentangle herself, though, Mike tipped up her chin and kissed her again. It didn’t feel like a curtain call; he kissed her like a man making as many plans to revisit this scenario as he could. He only stopped to murmur, right against her lips, “They might stop locking us up if they know.”

Now that they had such a pleasant way to pass the time, that’d be a real shame. 

Ginny didn’t bother to tell him she agreed. She was pretty sure Mike already knew.

 


	101. trope mashup: fire from frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> karma-tattoo: loving your bawson fics! 74 + 92?
> 
> huddling for warmth + kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: established relationship, smut, it's not that kinky though, edited
> 
> chapter title: A.S. Byatt quote, "Ice burns, and it is hard to the warm-skinned to distinguish one sensation, _fire, from_ the other, _frost_."
> 
>  
> 
> **Explicit content below**

“This is your fault,” Ginny accused. 

Well, she tried. Her teeth were chattering too hard for the words to come out clearly. 

Mike didn’t seem to have much of a problem understanding her, though. 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s my fault,” he said, pulling back the blankets on the bed. “Now take off your pants.”

Ginny tried. It was hard, though, when her fingers felt frozen solid and the button of her jeans just wouldn’t cooperate. Eventually, Mike noticed her difficulty. He abandoned his fussing with the blankets and turned back to her. Propping her against the bed, he dropped his hands to her fly and efficiently got it open, then tugged the clinging denim down her legs, taking her underwear with for good measure. Compared to her own frigid skin, his hands felt practically molten, hot enough to set her on fire.

She tried not to feel embarrassed. It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d undressed her—wouldn’t be the last, either—it was just that Ginny was usually rendered incapable of removing her clothes her self from something far more pleasurable than an impromptu and involuntary swim in the Pacific. 

One minute they were skipping rocks, seeing who could get theirs to make the most hops, and the next she’d been dunked unceremoniously in the ocean. Well, maybe there’d been a little bit of crowing and taunting on her part in between… The point was, though, Mike was a sore loser, and Ginny was definitely going to pay him back for that.

Once she could feel her toes again, she would. 

Her pants off, Mike turned his attention to her soaked sweater. Easily, he whisked it over her head, dropping the wool to the floor with a wet smack. Her bra followed, though his eyes didn’t follow the bounce of her breasts with the same abject appreciation the action usually inspired. He frowned at her instead, which wasn’t an expression Ginny was used to seeing from him while she was naked. 

“Into bed,” he ordered, patting the mattress behind her.

She didn’t have the energy to argue. All of it was taken up by the full-body shivers that had taken over. Ginny crawled into their vacation bed and huddled miserably, shivering and pitiful, against the pillows. Mike tugged the blankets up around her ears and turned away. 

“Where’re you going?” she demanded, a flutter of panic waking up in her stomach.

Patiently, he explained, “To get a towel for your hair and something warm for you to drink.”

“I thought  _you_  were gonna warm me up,” Ginny pouted. “This is your fault, after all.”

Mike huffed. “You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” The grin tugging at the corner of his mouth told her he didn’t mind. But he didn’t cave. “I’ll be right back.”

He was not. 

Ginny couldn’t say how long he was gone, or whether or not she'd actually fallen asleep while he was, but he was taking too damn long. She had yet to stop shivering, and though she might have been a good Southern girl, even Ginny knew that sharing body heat was the best way to warm up. 

She’d just swung her legs out of bed, setting off another cascade of shivers as the air hit her bare skin, when Mike finally appeared, a steaming mug of something in his hands and a towel draped around his shoulders. 

“Christ, Gin,” he complained, hurrying over and getting her tucked back into bed. “I told you to stay put. Do I need to tie you down?”

She shuddered. It had nothing to do with the cold. 

Mike’s gaze went sharp and interested, tracking over her face and neck and probably sussing out the hard points of her nipples under the layers of blankets. He didn’t say anything about what he saw, though, just stripped out of his damp shirt to crawl under the blankets with her. 

Ginny sighed at the first contact of his hot, dry skin against hers. His arms wrapped around her, hands gently gathering her wet hair and twisting it into the warm towel. He must have thrown it into the dryer while he was out of sight. That done, Mike gathered Ginny close, letting her leech his warmth away. 

Soon enough, the cold was just a memory. Mike’s hands stopped passing up and down her back to keep her blood flowing and began a less focused, more pleasurable pattern. Her legs parted in invitation, one that he didn’t wait long to accept. 

As his fingers parted her curls, meeting wetness that hadn’t come from the sea, Ginny groaned. 

“How about another game, Gin?” he murmured into her ear. 

“If you don’t throw me in the ocean when I beat you again, sure.”

“This is a game we can both win.” First one, then two, knuckles disappeared inside her. Her hips lifted, seeking more. Mike’s mouth curved against her jaw, the barest hint of teeth caressing her skin. 

“H-how do we play?” Her voice hitched as his fingers curled inside her, once, twice, and then back to his steady, maddening rhythm. 

“Easy. You’re gonna lie back and come as many times and in as many ways as I can make you.” Ginny’s pussy clamped down hard at Mike’s words. He simply pressed the heel of his hand to her clit in response. She had no problem with that, even if it didn’t sound like much of a game. Her mouth opened, but Mike must’ve known what she was going to say. “And you can’t touch me—or yourself—while I do it.”

“Why not?” she managed, though she was nearly too breathless for the words.

“'Cause I’m gonna tie you up.”

A ragged groan tore from her mouth, her thighs trying to trap Mike’s hand. If he’d just stay  _there_ , she could—

“You like that, don’t you?” he purred. Her head thrashed from side to side, not in disagreement, but because his hot breath ghosting across her skin made her want to fall apart, and he wouldn’t let her. His rhythm remained steady. “You’re practically dripping. Bet you’d be even wetter if you grab the headboard.”

Automatically, her hands flew up, curling around the wooden rungs. Mike’s eyes followed the motion, somehow going even darker. “That’s it. Don’t let go.”

Ginny had enough sense left to demand, “Or what?”

“Or I stop.” His fingers disappeared from her overheated pussy and his weight lifted from her body. Ginny went stock still. Her knuckles went white around their new post, her entire body vibrating with the effort of not hauling him back in to finish what he started. Mike chuckled, dark and dangerous, as his gaze raked all over her. Once he was satisfied, he resettled himself between her thighs. Another finger dipped inside her, and she sighed. “Good girl,” he breathed. “And look at that, you are soaking.”

She could feel it. Could hear it, too. The wet slide of his fingers into her cunt was nearly loud enough to drown out her desperate panting. “Please,” she begged, too far gone to care about anything but the cliff and glorious free fall Mike was driving her to. “Mike—”

“This is just a warm-up, Gin,” he promised, dipping down to worry a brown, straining nipple between his teeth. Her hips jumped. He rose again to mouth at her jaw, avoiding her lips when she turned her head to him. “For when I’m gonna tie you down and make you come as hard and as often as I like. That what you want?”

Sparks exploded across Ginny’s vision, orgasm crashing over her all at once, the prospect of Mike’s proposal combined with his clever fingers too much for her to handle. She turned her head and captured that wicked, dirty mouth of his as she shook apart, riding his hand for all she was worth. 

When the tremors subsided, sweat pooled stickily between her breasts and on her brow. Ginny didn’t care. Mike was looking down at her in awe and fascination and hunger and love. 

Stiffly, her fingers released the headboard to draw him back to her, feeling too much like an exposed wire not to combust under the intensity of his gaze. 

“This,” Mike said, as her legs wrapped around his waist, settling his straining erection—if only it weren’t still covered up by his sweats—into the lee of her thighs, “is all your fault.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ginny agreed, rolling her hips in frustration. “My fault. Now take off your pants.” 

 


	102. trope mashup: any place is good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: 54 and 91 for mike and Ginny with maybe a little 58 *wink wink*
> 
> secret relationship + pwp (+ accidental eavesdropping)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: secret relationship, future fic, the Padres are invested in Bawson, edited
> 
> chapter title: Tom Waits quote, " _Any place is good_ for eavesdropping, if you know how to eavesdrop."

Dragging Mike into the dim closet of the trainer’s room was probably not Ginny’s brightest idea. Anyone could find them and then their “just between you and me” deal would become “between you, me, and the rest of the world.”

But he’d been grinning at her, so tempting in his worn hoodie and backwards cap, and just a few feet away. She hadn’t been able to help herself. 

And, hey. At least she’d thought to wait to kiss him until they were in a room with no windows and only one door. One door that was pretty effectively blocked by Mike’s shoulders thudding against it as Ginny’s hand disappeared down the waistband of his shorts. 

Okay, this was definitely not her brightest idea.

That didn't mean she was about to stop, though.

Mike hissed as her palm skated down his dick, already semi-hard, his mouth going slack against hers. Not for long, though. In a flash, he’d spun them around, Ginny’s cheek pressed to the door as Mike worked her leggings and underwear down her hips from behind. 

She couldn’t widen her stance, not when he’d abandoned her leggings at her knees, but it didn’t seem to matter. Mike pulled her hips back, and the blunt head of his cock rubbed against her folds for only a moment—more than long enough to determine she was wet and ready for him, had been almost all day—before sinking inside. 

Ginny bit back a curse as he stretched her open. Her teeth dug into the back of her hand for good measure. This thing between her and Mike was not so long-standing that she was entirely used to his truly impressive dick. Long and thick and all around  _big,_ it always felt like an accomplishment to take that first thrust. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the back of her neck as he bottomed out inside her. Ginny shivered and arched her back, making his voice catch. “Couldn’t wait for this, could you?”

She couldn’t exactly disagree, however smug it’d make him. Besides, it wasn't like he was being the voice of reason, here. They hadn’t managed to sneak time together in a week, having both agreed that doing this on road trips was too risky, though probably not much riskier than hooking up in the clubhouse itself. However good at phone sex Mike was—and God, he was  _good;_ the memory of his voice, husky and demanding was nearly enough to set Ginny off—it wasn’t the same as having him in her bed. 

Or, as the case may be, in an otherwise empty closet.

Ginny rolled her hips. One of Mike’s hands dropped to her ass because he was nothing if not predictable. “Don’t gloat, Lawson,” she commanded. “Just fuck me.”

“Think I can do both,” he said, though he finally drew back and plunged forward again. 

He could. Mike took up a stream of filthy suggestions as he set an easy, driving pace. Fingers dropping down to circle her clit, Ginny let herself get lost in the rough timbre of his voice and the demanding thrust of his cock. 

Until another tone entered jarringly into the bubble they’d built. 

“So, what’s up with Baker and Lawson?”

On the other side of the door, clearly, at least one person had entered the trainer’s suite. It sounded like Mayer, who’d just been traded in from Philly. Mike stilled behind her, but even without his powerful strokes, Ginny’s heartbeat felt loud enough to be heard outside. She pressed a hand back to her mouth, hoping to muffle her harsh breaths. 

“What isn’t up with Baker and Lawson?” That was definitely Sonny, sounding truly aggrieved. 

“They’re dancing around one another,” said someone else. Maybe Dusty? He was too far away to be clear. 

“When they should just be fucking one another,” Salvi drawled, close enough that Ginny nearly jumped. He had to be right outside the door. 

Mike’s hips pumped, shallow enough to be unintentional, but still forceful enough to jostle a surprised huff from Ginny’s lips. They both froze, waiting for someone outside to notice. 

No one did. 

“So they’re a thing?” Mayer asked, sounding more curious than disdainful. 

“Well…”

“They will be.”

“If Lawson doesn’t fuck it up.”

Mike’s mouth pressed against her neck, but Ginny could feel his laugh rumble through her body. His lips inched upwards until they were at her ear. “What d’you think, Gin? ‘M I gonna fuck it up?” 

Meanwhile, his hips began to roll, not quite a thrust, but enough to make his dick grind inside her. 

“If you get us caught,” she breathed, already feeling wrecked, “you will.”

“Only way we get caught is if you can’t keep quiet. Can you do that for me? Save those sounds for later.”

Ginny nodded, more interested in the way Mike’s cock filled her up so perfectly than the voices of her teammates just a few feet away. Anything that would keep him inside her, making her feel like this, wasn't much of a price to pay.

“That’s it,” he repeated, taking up a much slower, but deeper, rhythm. He couldn’t exactly pound her into the door when someone was sure to come investigate the rattling. His hand joined hers at her clit, drumming a driving pattern into the bundle of nerves. 

She had to bite down on the heel of her palm to keep all the sounds she wanted to make in check. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Mike urged, his own voice coming out strained and hoarse. “Almost there.”

She was. But it wasn’t until she heard, their voices fading away as they abandoned the training suite for the draw of MLB18 in the Hub, “…he loves her,” that Ginny finally tumbled over the edge. 

She gasped into her palm, vision blanking out as Mike continued to pump inside her, his steady rhythm forgotten as he followed her into the abyss. 

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was their mingled breathing. Then Mike pulled away, leaving Ginny empty and mostly sated. She turned to lean back against the door as he tucked himself into his shorts, looking for something to help clean her up. Before he could go for the Kleenex, though, she curled her fist into his sweatshirt and reeled him in. 

If Mike was surprised by her hot, greedy kiss, he didn’t act like it. He hauled her against his chest, for all intents and purposes gearing up for another round. 

“Do you?” Ginny asked, when they separated for breath.

Mike didn’t bother playing dumb. He just smiled down at her, his thumb caressing the apple of her cheek. “Of course I do.”

He didn’t ask, but she volunteered the information anyway. “I love you, too.”

His smile went a little funny, and he had to blink a few times. Rather than kiss her again, the way she expected, Mike reached around her for the door handle. 

Ginny yelped, scrambling to pull up her leggings in spite of the mess between her thighs. “Mike!” she protested, laughing a little.

This time, he pressed a fierce kiss to her mouth. “Baker, if I don’t get you out of here immediately, I’m gonna do something that blows this secret out of the water.”

She didn’t say that that didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world because she was probably wrong. Just because their teammates didn’t seem to mind didn’t mean the rest of the world wouldn’t. 

Instead, Ginny curled her fingers around the back of Mike’s neck and kissed him back. “Then I guess you should take me home, Lawson.”

Grinning, he wound his fingers into hers and pulled her out into the light.

 


	103. trope mashup: not in some dreamworld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: 62 and 70 for bawson!
> 
> love confessor + locked in a room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: Evelyn POV, future fic, Evelyn & Mike, edited
> 
> chapter title: Ian Bogost quote, "We are all alive today, ever so briefly here now, not then, not ago, _not in some dreamworld_ of a hypothetical future. Whatever you do, you must make it contemporary. Make it matter now."

How, exactly, Evelyn had come to be locked in the walk-in refrigerator of what would soon be San Diego’s premier culinary destination with Mike Lawson of all people, she wasn’t quite sure. And yet, here she was. Stuck in a walk-in refrigerator with Mike Lawson. 

At least they hadn’t turned the thing on yet. The thought alone was enough to make her shiver. 

Only a few feet away, Mike couldn’t help but notice. Immediately, he shrugged out of his beat-up leather jacket and held it out to her. 

“When did you turn into such a gentleman?” Ev teased as she put it on. The refrigerator may not be running, but it wasn’t anywhere close to warm, and Blip, their rescuer, was still fifteen minutes away. 

He grinned, but Evelyn didn’t miss the flicker of a grimace that passed over his face first. “Even an old dog can learn new tricks. Gotta do something to remind the women of San Diego that Livan’s not the only Padre on the market.”

“Are you?” she blurted before she could help herself. At the quizzical furrow of Mike’s brow, Evelyn clarified. “On the market, I mean.”

Mike frowned at her, rocking back like she’d hit him. “Why shouldn’t I be? The divorce’s been final for years now, Ev.”

She waved him off, impatient. Evelyn hadn’t realized she actually wanted to have this conversation when she first started it, but now that the opportunity had presented itself… “I didn’t mean Rachel.”

“Then who—”

“Ginny.”

Silence stretched between them, fraught and heavy. Mike’s mouth opened, but he closed it without saying anything. Evelyn just watched him, drinking in every detail and trying to complete a picture she had only the barest sketch of; Ginny could be awfully tight-lipped when she put her mind to it.

His jaw worked side to side for a long moment. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Don’t lie to me, Mike,” she said, putting every last ounce of no-nonsense she’d built up in her years as a mother. “You’re not good at it.”

“I’ve got plenty of people who’d disagree,” he returned, eyes narrowed. 

“I’m not one of them. And don’t change the subject.”

“I don’t even know what the subject is!” Mike exclaimed, more agitated than this kind of back and forth warranted. Evelyn was sure she’d hit a nerve. 

“The subject is your love life, Lawson. Don’t think people haven’t taken note of the fact that it’s been suspiciously quiet lately. Used to be I couldn’t turn around without hearing about another one of your dates, but that hasn’t been true in a long time, has it?”

His arms crossed defensively over his chest, unwilling to concede the point. “That doesn’t have anything to do with Ginny,” he tried, hardly even sounding like he believed it himself.

Evelyn leveled him with an unimpressed glare. “I thought I told you not to lie to me.”

A shadow of a smile played around his mouth, but he was rolling his eyes too. “Can’t get better if I don’t practice.”

“Practice on someone else. Now, give me the dirt,” she demanded.

“If,” he said, like a hypothetical was some huge concession, “you were right, and there was some connection between the two, then maybe it would happen like this: Maybe I’d realize that just talking with Ginny is more satisfying than anything else with other women. Maybe I’d think that any time spent on a date could be time with her. Maybe I just wouldn’t see much point in going out with anyone I’m not in love with.” Mike looked her in the eyes even as he shrugged the suggestion off. “But that’s just maybe.”

Evelyn blinked. She opened her mouth. 

Before she could say anything, though, the door to the refrigerator swung open. Standing there, backlit by the brilliant afternoon sun was their savior. Except, it wasn’t Blip. 

Ginny stepped into the doorway, grinning like the cat who got the canary. “Do I even wanna know how you two got stuck in here?” she asked, directing a quick look to Evelyn before turning the full force of her teasing smile on Mike. He rolled his eyes. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he sighed, long-suffering. It caught Ginny’s attention, which he’d clearly meant to do since the real story wasn’t all that interesting. 

“Tell me,” Ginny said as Mike brushed by her, leaving his impromptu prison behind. She followed after, leaving Evelyn to bring up the rear. 

Which, to be fair, was exactly where she wanted to be. Now that Evelyn knew there was something to see, that this wasn’t just the product of wishful thinking the way Blip sometimes tried half-heartedly to convince her, she couldn’t stop noticing things. Like the way Mike kept sneaking glances when he thought Ginny wasn’t looking, or how Ginny walked close enough for their arms to brush with every step, leaving their hands so close to tangling together. 

Quickly enough, the picture that Ev had been trying to fill in, going off scraps of gossip and Ginny’s reluctant confessions, took shape. Now that she had a good idea of what she was working with, the real work could begin. 

It was time to get these two together.

 


	104. trope mashup: the long game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: 34 + 54 bawson
> 
> vacation fic + secret relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: established relationship, prequel to [the moral comments of the neighbors](archiveofourown.org/works/8475475/chapters/20128093), edited

Ginny didn’t want to know who Mike had bribed for access to their borrowed house, complete with private beach, but she was pretty sure she owed them about a million favors. Not as many as she owed Mike for arranging this all, but gratitude nonetheless; by the time they went back to San Diego, she hoped to have made a dent in those favors. Maybe a few down here on the beach itself...

She giggled and stretched, basking in the glorious warmth.

It’d been a long time since she actually felt this relaxed. On vacation or otherwise. Usually, she was too preoccupied with being recognized—it seemed to happen everywhere, even places where baseball was considered some sort of oddity—to enjoy the time off, but this trip was different. 

This trip, it was just her and Mike and a little seaside cottage in the lush, Hawaiian forest. The nearest town was a good twenty-minute drive away. No one even knew, since those hints she’d dropped to Ev hadn’t seemed to stick, they were here together. 

It was peaceful. Perfect. She never wanted to leave.

Stretching out in the fine, white sand, Ginny turned to regard the man lying next to her. His chest glimmered with a fine sheen of sweat and the sunblock she’d been so thorough in applying. Swim trunks clung determinedly to muscular thighs. His sunglasses perched on his nose, arms tucked behind his head. Clearly, though, Mike wasn’t asleep. He turned to look at her almost as soon as he felt her appreciative gaze. One dark brow arched, his lips curving into a devastating grin. 

“See something you like?”

Ginny let herself grin back, just as suggestive. She bit her lip for good measure and wished she could watch the way his eyes surely darkened behind his dark lenses. “Something,” she agreed. 

“Why don’t you come over and show me, then?”

“What, and do all the work myself?” Laughing, she rolled to her feet and sauntered towards the lapping waves. As she went, she called over her shoulder, “Come and get it if you really want it, Lawson.”

Apparently, he only sort of wanted it. 

Mike followed obligingly after her, but rather than crowding against her the way Ginny had hoped and letting the waves carry them both, he stopped with the water churning around his ankles. Ginny watched in baffled confusion as he pulled out his phone and clearly started snapping pictures. 

“Mike!” she protested, laughing and splashing at him. 

“What?”  

“Do you really need to do that?” A breeze threatened to jerk her sunhat away, so she held tight, pulling it down over salt-tangled hair.

“Gotta have something to remember this when my memory goes,” he joked. 

Ginny turned to the horizon rather than entertain that possibility. When she’d mastered herself enough to turn back, ready to tease him some more, she was pulled up short. 

Mike was still there, bare-chested and handsome as ever. His phone was still in his right hand. But it was his left that ate up all Ginny’s attention. 

Well, his left hand and the robin’s egg blue box it held. 

Her eyes went straight back to his face. His sunglasses had disappeared and she could stare into his warm, gorgeous eyes. Her own already felt suspiciously hot. 

“I want to remember every day with you, Ginny,” he said. Thank God he’d put his phone away. She didn’t think either of them would have any trouble remembering this. “Every day I’ve spent with you and every day that comes. I want you to be in them. As my partner. My friend. My wife, if you’ll have me.” 

Ginny could hardly breathe as he sank down to one knee, flipping open the ring box to reveal a glittering diamond ring. Staring up at her with utter devotion, a mirror of everything she felt for him, Mike asked the question she’d known the answer to for years: “Will you marry me?”

It took a while for Ginny to actually get her reply out. She’d been too busy knocking him all the way to the sand, kissing every inch of him that she could reach, to bother with the formalities. Only when Mike protested, “Give me an answer here, Gin,” did she gasp, “Yes!”

Once they’d finished celebrating, Ginny’s newly adorned hand resting on his chest, an idle thought occurred to her. 

“It’s too bad I can’t marry you here,” she said. “I’d marry you today if I could.”

Mike was quiet for a moment, but when he looked down at her, there was a spark of inspiration already burning away in his eyes. 

“Who says we can’t?”

 


	105. trope mashup: set fire to the cords that bind us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: 61++53 please and thank you for Lawson and Baker
> 
> love confession + mutual pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: getting together, future fic, edited
> 
> chapter title: Joan Shelley, "Jenny Come In"

Ginny’s palms had yet to stop sweating. The game was over and she’d been in air conditioning for the past two hours, to say nothing of through a very thorough shower, but her hands were still stubbornly clammy. 

At least it hadn’t started up until after she’d gotten through her shutout. If she’d been battling sweaty fingers as well as the Dodgers’ lineup, Ginny was pretty sure Al would’ve pulled her in the seventh the way he wanted to.

And if Ginny hadn’t been on the mound for the end of the ninth, then she wouldn’t have been treated to the experience of Mike Lawson barreling toward her from the plate, his arms flung out and ready to catch her. Catch her they did. Mike swept her up with a victorious shout, leaving Ginny to cling to him, face buried in his sweaty neck, laughing and happier than she could remember being in a long time. 

That happiness cracked right down the middle, though, the minute her feet were back on solid ground. 

With their teammates eddying around them, Ginny and Mike were a point of stillness. She looked up at and him, his familiar, perfect face, and realized that she wasn’t happy, actually. Not as happy as she could be, at least. 

This thing between them, being teammates and friends, it worked. They could go on like this indefinitely if they had to. 

But did they have to? 

Ginny’d gotten so good at pushing aside the parts of herself that wanted to be more than Mike Lawson’s friend and teammate. That wanted to be his. But whatever walls she’d built up to keep that knowledge at bay crumbled as she stared into his eyes, adrenaline and a win and adoration rushing through her system. She was punched in the gut with the desire to wrap herself around him again and kiss that gorgeous, bearded grin off his face as soon as possible. 

Which wasn’t exactly the kind of thought that Ginny wanted to have in front of tens of thousands of people. 

She’d made it off the field and into the clubhouse without making any bad decisions, jerking her gaze from Mike and ignoring the flicker of confusion on his face just before she turned away. But even after her cool down and a long time spent under the chilly spray of her shower, Ginny couldn’t shove the epiphany she’d had on the mound back down. 

So, she paced the confines of her dressing room, rubbing her sweating palms against her thighs and trying to figure out a way that this wouldn’t end in disaster. Ginny was a realist; she wanted what she wanted, but she also knew it could piss a lot of people off. If she thought about it hard enough, worked the problem, she could find the right solution.

A tap at her door pulled her from her considerations. 

Ginny frowned, even as she reached for it; she’d been sure she’d be the only one left in the clubhouse. Of course, the person standing on the other side was just the man she was burning to see. 

Mike stood in the doorway, freshly showered and frowning himself, like he was deep in thought. He even looked a little surprised to see Ginny, blinking twice before a look of determination settled over his face. 

“Got a minute?” he asked, stepping inside before Ginny had a chance to reply. 

She didn’t mind, nodded her agreement and shut the door behind him. This seemed like a minute that would be better spent in private. Her mouth went dry as the desert as she took in the strong line of his shoulders, the way his fingers curled and straightened at his sides. “What’s up?” Ginny eventually managed, having drunk in every single detail of Mike Lawson’s fine (and she meant  _fine_ ) figure.

His jaw worked side to side for a long moment, eyes trained on the floor. When they met hers again, Ginny couldn’t quite stifle a gasp. Swirling in his dark eyes was everything, every last drop of affection and joy and desire, that Ginny felt for Mike herself. 

But there, binding it all together, was doubt. 

“I tried, Ginny,” he said, sounding more honest than usual. “Well, I tried _not_ to do this, but it’s pointless. I can’t keep doing—”

Dread settled hard and cold in her gut. “Doing what?”

“Pretending that this is working—”

“I’m not asking you to pretend, Mike,” Ginny tried. She couldn’t lose him. Not before she’d even had him. “It is working.”

“Gin,” he sighed. 

“It’s working!” she protested, swallowing down disappointment. “Tell me what’s not and I’ll fix it, just don’t—”

He laughed, but there wasn’t much amusement in the sound. “Nothing you can do to fix this. It’s not broken.”

“Then why isn’t it working?” Ginny challenged, stepping into his warmth, chin tipping up as she drew close. She couldn’t miss the bob of his throat as he swallowed. “It feels like it’s working. You’re my partner, my—”

This time, Mike cut her off. 

His hands cupped her face as he kissed her with nearly bruising force. Ginny hardly even saw it coming, her lips still open as he descended on her. Mike pressed his advantage, tongue sweeping straight into her mouth, tasting, probing, exploring like he might not get another chance. 

Oh. Did he not realize? What an idiot. 

Ginny pulled away and didn’t give in when he chased her. She laid her hands on his chest instead, keeping him far enough away that she could look him in the eyes. It was close enough that she could still feel his breath against her mouth, a phantom tingle where he’d just been.

“I want you to be more than my teammate, Mike,” she said, feeling shy under the intensity of his gaze. “I love you.”

It took a second for the words to sink in. But once they did, his grip on her tightened, fingers curling behind her jaw and drawing her forward, and relief dawned on his face. 

“Oh, thank God,” he murmured, just before kissing her again. This time, he was gentler, though no less passionate. Ginny could feel his heart beating into her chest, a rhythm she wanted to guide everything in her life. “That’s what I was trying to say. I can’t pretend I don’t love you anymore, Gin.”

She grinned and wound her arms around him, though there wasn’t much point. They were already tied together as closely as two people could be. “Then don’t.”

Mike smiled back. “Couldn’t if I wanted to.”

 


	106. trope mashup: always have been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ourstartingpoints: bawson 41, please and thank you; let’s pretend it’s au, bawson 90; last one I promise bawson 59
> 
> first kiss + unexpected virgin + interrupted declaration of love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: getting together, 
> 
> chapter title: _40-Year-Old Virgin_ quotes, "I'm a virgin. I _always have been._ "

There was no question in Mike’s mind where this was going. Ever since Ginny’s hand had slipped into his, halfway through the drive home, Mike had known. 

The realization probably should have made him nervous, but between the way Ginny’s fingers traced over the back of his free hand as he guided the car towards her house and the long, heated looks she kept sending his way, the only feeling Mike had room for was arousal. Which, for the record, was about par for the course when Ginny was around. 

He swallowed and finally swung his truck into her driveway. 

Ginny didn’t relinquish her grip on his hand, so he had to reach over the wheel to put the car in park, though it wasn’t like he minded. The keys, he left swinging in the ignition. His passenger was more decisive. 

Turning the car off, Ginny palmed his keychain and finally let go of his hand. Since she also said, “Walk me to the door?” Mike didn’t mind too much. 

Then, when they got to the front step and it became clear Ginny had no intention of sending him on his way, Mike minded even less. He followed her inside without complaint. Once the door swung shut behind them, she took his hand again. 

Rather than twine her fingers through his, though, her grip smoothed up his wrist, over his arm, all the way to cup around his elbow. Using that as an anchor, Ginny drew herself in. Mike held himself still to let her come at her own pace, watching with hooded eyes. Her own were trained intently on his mouth, making heat curl, like a living thing, through his belly.

It turned into an inferno when Ginny’s curious fingers quested across his stomach, dipping below the hem of his shirt. 

His restraint blew into a million pieces. Mike reeled Ginny in those last, insufferable inches. He cupped her cheek, his forehead dipping down to hers. 

“Tell me you what you want, Gin,” he rumbled, voice rough and desperate.

“You, Mike,” she replied, just as urgently. “Just you.”

It was impossible to tell who moved first, bridging the final gap. It was possible, though, to tell who asked for more first. Ginny gasped into Mike’s mouth, her tongue drawing against the seam of his lips. Obligingly, he opened for her. He was almost so distracted by the taste of Ginny, her teeth digging tantalizingly into him, that he nearly didn’t notice her hands on his belt buckle. 

It wasn’t until he felt a tug, the belt sliding through its loops, that Mike startled away from her. 

Ginny looked up at him, lips bee-stung and eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” she asked, vulnerable and uncertain. 

“Nothing,” he replied immediately, leaning back down to kiss her again. She unfolded into his warmth, face tipped up to his. Mike didn’t let himself get distracted, though. “I just— I should tell you— I’ve never—”

“What? Kissed a teammate?” she teased, grinning. 

Mike rolled his eyes. “You know there’re pictures of me laying one on Sonny when he got us into the playoffs.”

“And I’ve never been more jealous.”

She almost sounded like she was telling the truth. Still, Mike didn’t let himself weasel out of this reveal. Ginny deserved to know. Much as he wanted to, Mike didn’t let Ginny press herself against him. God, did he want to. 

“I’ve never done this, Gin,” he admitted. 

She raised a skeptical brow. “Not with me, you haven’t.”

“Not with anyone.”

The words dropped into the scant space between them like stones into water. Ginny’s reaction to this information started small, a bare furrow between her eyebrows, and grew, her eyes flashing to his, jaw going slack. 

“You never—?”

Mike shook his head, refusing to feel embarrassed. So he hadn’t had sex before. He’d been too fucking busy to get busy fucking. 

“But all that gossip…” 

“There’s more than one way to get a woman to give you a glowing review,” he said, shifting his weight. Mike was no saint. He’d been with plenty of women, just never actually gone all the way. 

Ginny nodded thoughtfully, lips pursed. She was too quiet for his tastes, but he didn’t push her. He’d understand if this changed things. She was expecting Mike Lawson: Sex God, but was getting... him. If she’d want to slow down or stop altogether, he'd understand.

Finally, though, she eased the knot of worry that had settled into his gut by stepping forward again and wrapping an arm around his neck. Her warmth against him was all that Mike could ask for, but he was greedily happy when she kissed him again, hot and wet and eager.  

“That’s all right, old man,” she said when she broke for breath, grinning into his lips as her hand worked his fly open. “I’ll show you the ropes.”

Much later, once Mike had been thoroughly inducted into the ranks of the sexually active—he’d argue that he’d been sexually active since he got his first girl off in the back of his car, though he was sure plenty of people would disagree—he and Ginny sprawled contentedly on her bed. She cuddled into his side, eyes drifting shut as she listened to his heart beat in time with hers. 

She hummed when he said her name, settling an arm more snugly around his waist.

“I think I was waiting for you,” he murmured into the dark. Ginny nuzzled into his chest, lips dragging against his skin. In reply, his hand smoothed up her bare back. “Like I’ve known all along that you’d come and turn my life upside down. In the best way possible. I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else. Don’t even want to. Because I— Gin?”

She let out a soft snore. 

He chuckled and resolved to tell her when she was going to stay awake for it. Easing the discarded blankets up from the end of the bed, careful not to dislodge Ginny, Mike settled in for the night. He pressed one last kiss, for the evening at least, to her temple and let his eyes drift shut. 

For once, reality would be so much better than his dreams.

 


	107. trope mashup: no courage (in flirting with fear)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: ahhh the bawson love is real! how about 42 + 64 (so basically season 2 canon lol)
> 
> the big damn kiss + star-crossed lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: World Series, future fic, edited
> 
> chapter title: The Oh Hellos, "Eat You Alive"

Ginny jogged the ball up and down in her hand, waiting for the batter to settle into the box. There was too much nervous energy in her system for her liking. For anyone’s liking, probably. Anyone who was a fan of the Padres, at least. 

Then again, this was the most stressful situation she’d ever been in; she was allowed to be nervous pitching in the World Series. 

For all she knew, a poor performance tonight would bar any woman from ever following in her footsteps. For generations, she'd be held up as the bogeyman, the key piece of evidence to, "See what happens when we tried?"

She blew out a hard breath, shaking her shoulders loose. The future of women in baseball was not her problem. At the moment, for the very least. At the moment, her problem was getting one more out to end the inning so her guys could come up to the plate and blow this thing open. 

Looking for her sign, Ginny leaned in. Once she was satisfied, she rocked back, settled into her windup, and let the ball fly. 

Rather than the leather of her catcher’s mitt, it connected with the ash of a bat, a  _crack_  reverberating through the stadium as the ball soared through the air, over the heads of the fielders, and finally into the screaming crowds. Thankfully, it landed well outside the foul pole, but that thing had been smoked. 

Ginny’s nerves jittered. She turned back to the plate as if everything was just fine, though, and signaled for another ball. Rather than toss it out, it looked like she was getting a hand delivery.

“You trying to give me a heart attack?” Mike complained, jogging out to the mound. “Christ, give a guy some warning next time.”  


“Just a long strike, Lawson,” she muttered from behind her glove.   


“Yeah, about a mile long.”  


Glaring at him from behind her glove was less satisfying when he couldn’t tell she was flipping him off, too. 

Of course, Mike knew anyway. “Put that finger away,” he scolded, sounding more amused than anything. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

“If it’s ‘Don’t leave another cutter hanging—’“  


“I love you.”  


Immediately, Ginny’s eyes flicked to the camera wells, sure their conversation was being broadcast into thousands and thousands of homes as they spoke. And Mike hadn’t bothered to screen his mouth. Her pulse took up a harsh, drumming rhythm in her throat. It felt like the sky would open up at any second to smite them where they stood, retribution for sullying the national pastime.

If the sky didn’t, she imagined the public would have no problem filling in.

“I know you don’t want to talk about this while we’re still teammates," he said, not sounding nearly apologetic enough for her tastes, "but I don’t think I can wait. This is where I fell for you; this is where I should tell you.”  


“In the middle of a game?” was all she could think to say. He’d fucking jinxed them and Ginny couldn’t even take her rage—all he’d had to do was wait one more week and they’d be in the clear, Mike safely retired and with enough plausible deniability to skirt the coverage that would swamp them otherwise—out on him.  


Mike’s mouth tipped up in a grin that usually had no trouble in winning her over. “When else will you and I be here again?”

Ginny didn’t like to think about that. Instead, she pursed her lips and set her jaw, holding her glove out imperiously for the ball. “You still should have waited.”

He rolled his eyes but handed it over, saying, “You’re too superstitious for your own good,” like it wasn’t a complete non sequitur. “You’ve convinced yourself we’re doomed if we talk about this too soon, but we’re not. I won’t let us be, and I don't think you will either.”

With that, he backed down the mound, brushing past the home plate umpire who clearly had no problem laying into him about the mandated length of a mound visit. Mike shrugged it off and hunkered down, ready for her delivery. 

A ball and two strikes later, and Ginny was headed back to the dugout in a daze. 

She didn’t take the field again. Which was probably a good thing for the team's chances of winning the game. There were too many non-baseball thoughts circling through her head for Ginny to be particularly effective on the mound. 

Did he have a point? Had Ginny gotten too caught up with following her code and the endless maze of “what ifs” to actually weigh them against reality? Because the reality was that she’d never trusted anyone like she trusted Mike. Never met someone she’d rather have on her side in spite of all the reasons why she probably shouldn't.

Maybe they were doomed. 

But she’d never find out until they started. 

Which was why, when Mike cranked out a home run to left center in the bottom of the ninth, sending himself and Blip—the tying and winning runs—around the bases, Ginny made sure to plant herself right behind home plate, ready to greet him.

Mike hardly slowed down, ready to catch her up in his arms, but Ginny had other plans.

Going with his momentum, she grabbed his jersey and pivoted with him, dragging his bulk to a stop in the knot of their teammates. Mike was too overjoyed to let his disappointment that she’d avoided his embrace show, but the feeling didn’t last long anyway. Not when Ginny used her grip to pull him close and lay a long-overdue kiss right on his grinning mouth. 

It was the image that would dominate every front page in America the following day: Ginny Baker nearly bent over backwards as she kissed the living daylights out of her captain, surrounded by their whooping—and largely unsurprised— teammates. 

It was also the image that she made sure to frame and hang first in any house she and Mike bought. She’d spent so much time trying to mitigate the reaction of the press and public to her eventual—inevitable, really—relationship, which she didn’t exactly regret. It wasn’t like the media didn’t deserve the suspicion. But it was nice to remember that the payoff was well worth the worry.

  



	108. trope mashup: what the mind forgets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: 96 and 86 for everyone’s favourite Padres
> 
> scars + i didn’t mean to turn you on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags: pre-relationship, future fic, edited
> 
> chapter title: Edith Tiempo quote, " _What the mind forgets_ , the scars keep remembering."

Mike blew out a long, though he would argue unlabored, breath as he collapsed down to the floor. He probably should’ve bit the bullet and gone on to his next station—his workout wasn’t quite done ye; it felt like ab day was never done—but he could feel his racing heartbeat all the way through the tips of his fingers. He’d get up in a minute, but for now, the floor was good.

“Do I need to call an ambulance for you, old man? Or should I just bring in the wheelchair?”

He cracked an eye open to see Ginny staring down at him, far too amused for his liking. 

From more than five feet away, her bright grin and dimples were too much for Mike to handle; when Ginny sank gracefully to the floor beside him and they were suddenly so much closer, he was surprised his heart didn’t actually give up the ghost and stop working all together.

She nudged him with her knee, so Mike hauled himself semi-upright to prove that she shouldn’t be booking him a room in the retirement home quite yet. Somehow, her grin grew even brighter. 

Mike wanted intensely to lay back down. 

Instead, he rolled his eyes and started picking at the velcro holding his knee brace to his leg. “We can’t all run an Iron Man every week.” With the brace off, he flexed the joint, testing its strength. Satisfied it would support him another day, he draped an arm over it and chanced a look at his pitcher. 

She wrinkled her nose at him. “It’s only every other week, Lawson.” Obligingly, he laughed, making her smile bloom again. This one was softer, her eyes cast down, giving Mike plenty of opportunity to drink her in. Drops of sweat, more graceful than whatever he was bathed in, stood out on her temples. A light flush dusted across her cheeks, like she’d just hurried up a set of stairs rather than run five whole miles. His perusal was interrupted when Ginny nodded down to his knee and the stark scar running over it. “When’d you get that?”

He rubbed a thumb over the raised line and thought back. “The year before I got called up. Tore my meniscus and didn’t want to chance it healing badly on its own. Still took me out for the last half of the season, though.”

She nodded and fingered, almost unconsciously, the much smaller scar on her elbow. Rather than let Ginny sink into memories of last season, Mike thrust his forearm straight into her line of sight. 

“Got this,” he said, showing off the four parallel lines across his inner arm, “rescuing my neighbor’s asshole cat from a tree.”

Brightening, Ginny asked, “Seriously? From a tree? How old were you?”

“Fourteen. I was trying to impress the girl across the street.”

“And did you?” She didn’t look like she doubted it, her eyes sweeping down his form, teeth sinking into the plump flesh of her bottom lip.

Drawing both his knees up and leaning forward, like that would mask the stirring in his shorts, Mike replied, “Would’ve if I didn’t almost fall out when the monster drew blood.”

His confession didn’t seem to put Ginny off any. Chuckling, she shifted her weight to the side and pulled the already too high hem of her shorts up to bare her hip. There, interrupting the smooth, flawless plane of her skin was a fine web of scarring. Mike clenched his fists to resist the urge to reach out and touch it, to make sure that she really was whole and undamaged beside him. 

“Got this trying to take my bike off a jump my brother and his friends had built,” she explained. “They kept telling me I couldn’t, so I had to try.”

“'Course you did,” Mike said, voice rough.

She flashed him a proud smile. “Wiped out and nearly trashed my bike, too. Still went further than all of Will’s friends, though.”

“Didn’t expect any less of you.” Mike patted her knee, but Ginny shifted again and his hand ended up above it, the tips of his fingers curling into the sensitive flesh above her inner thigh. 

For a moment, except for their eyes, which flashed towards one another, they both froze. It hardly seemed like Ginny was breathing, her lips parted and every sculpted muscle of her body perfectly tense. For his part, Mike didn’t let his grip tighten, didn’t haul her into him the way he ached to do. He also didn’t convince himself to let her go, either, but he was only human. 

It was a sound in the hallway, someone dropping their gear or the cheer from the hub as someone won a round of Mario Kart maybe, that startled them apart. 

Ginny leapt to her feet in a flash, leaving Mike on the ground. He blinked up at her. 

“I’ll, um,” she stuttered, looking at anything that wasn’t him, “see you out there?”

Without waiting for a response—she’d be waiting a long time; Mike’s brain had yet to reform from the puddle of goo it'd melted into—she turned on her heel and practically raced out the door. 

Mike blew out a long breath. This time, he didn’t collapse to the floor. That’d make a few things about his current state a little too obvious. Instead, he bowed his head and tried to focus on cooling down.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna leave me a kudos/comment, I'd absolutely appreciate it, but this is mostly a way for me to make sure I don't lose all this stuff in the event tumblr folds.


End file.
